Sweet Misery
by LunaEquus
Summary: A modern tale of A Great and Terrible Beauty. Still the same sorrow, love, and drama, only set in present day New York City. How might this setting change things for Gemma and Company? ON HIATUS! Sorry guys! 8C
1. Chapter 1

**So here is another story to fill the gap once I finish Nectar of the Gods. (What gap?) I had this idea for awhile, and I'm really excited about it. If I succeed, this will be a thorough, modernized rendition of the Gemma Doyle Trilogy. Obviously, The Sweet Far Thing hasn't been released yet, so I only have plans for AGATB and RA. This story will be a mixture of both. Thanks in advance to my beta girl GxK, even if I am publishing this before she actually gave me any feedback. Ah well. I am impatient. **

"How's my birthday girl?" My father sets his briefcase on the floor and hands me a bouquet of pink roses and honeysuckle.

"As sweet as a sixteen year old can be, Dad," I say, smiling giddily.

He lets out a booming laugh that seems to make his large stomach rumble. "Come here, you, Miss Sweet Sixteen!" He swoops me into a bear hug and I squeal with laughter. I may be sixteen today, but my father always makes me feel like a little girl. "I've got something for you."

Make that a spoiled little girl.

"Is it a car?!" I can't help but wish for one, preferably silver and expensive.

"Now, now," my dad says, brandishing his finger at me. "How do you expect a car when you don't even have your license, Gemma?"

"But I have my permit!"

"Don't whine!" my mother calls from the kitchen. I sigh and slump back into my chair.

My father's eyes twinkle merrily. "Gemma, do you recall that bicycle you wanted a few years ago? The one with the pink streamers and light-up stars?"

My mouth drops open in horror. "Dad! You didn't!"

"No, you're right. I didn't. Let's see, what other forms of transportation tickle your fancy?"

Excitement rises in my stomach. "A horse?" I've wanted a horse of my own ever since I started taking lessons a few years ago.

My dad frowns and sets a wrapped box on the table. "I don't think a horse could fit in here."

"But you said transportation…" I trail off uncertainly.

"Open it, love," my mother says, appearing in the doorway. She wipes her hands on her apron and smiles.

With a sigh of perfected disdain, I tear open the purple paper. What I see nearly makes me want to cry. "Roller skates," I say flatly. "Oh boy, oh boy."

My parents share an amused look. "Perhaps you might like to try them on, Gemma?"

"No thanks mum, I think I'm set in the roller skates department."

"Be a good sport, love."

"Fine." I open the cardboard box only to discover there is nothing but a mess of tissue paper. "Oh come on! Enough games," I say, grinning despite myself. I reach into the box and pull out an envelope. "Money?"

"Better," my parents say in unison.

I open the card and out falls a picture of a black horse with a small white star on his head. I know this horse. I test rode him _just in case_ and I absolutely fell in love with him. "Is he mine?!" I shriek.

"Yes, Gem. He's all yours."

"Oh my god! Thank you so much!" I jump up and hug my parents fiercely.

Dad frowns thoughtfully. "I don't know Gemma. Perhaps you'd rather have a car after all? It _would_ cost us less."

"No! My horse is better than any car!"

The three of us sit down for supper. My brother Tom is absent, working the graveyard shift at the hospital he interns at. Even without him, dinner is a happy affair. My parents are content to listen to me brainstorm about show names and new tack for my new horse; even though they probably know it means more money for them.

Cake is served and with it comes another surprise.

"Gemma darling," my mother says in that offhanded way of hers. "Your father and I have some news for you."

"You bought me a car as well?"

My mother smiles and shakes her head. "John?" She turns to my father. "Perhaps you'd like to tell her?"

My father reaches across the table and pats my hand. "We're moving to the city, love."

"You're joking." I hate the city. It's loud and dirty and filled with crazy people.

"We're not, honey," my mother says. "Your father got a promotion at work and it'd be easier if we moved into the city."

"Oh," I say hollowly. "Congrats, Dad."

He winks. "You'll finally have your own bathroom!"

I smile weakly. "Sounds like a blast. Can I be excused?"

"Of course."

I thank my parents again for my birthday dinner and of course, my horse, and steal away to my bedroom to reflect. I love my room; it's been nearly the same since I was a little girl. Same purple walls and frilly white curtains as always, though my princess mural has long been painted over. Except for the unicorn. That part I insisted on keeping, no matter how much my friends tease me for having a large white horse on my wall.

I sink into the soft pillows on my window seat. It's always been my favorite spot in the whole house. I'd spend hours, curled up, reading or writing, or just staring at the sky and daydreaming. Just another reason for me to hate the city. It doesn't have window seats, nor any open sky.

And where does one board a horse?

In a split second's time my mood lightens considerably. _I have a horse! _ So what if I have to move? The city is only about an hour away. My friends can take the train. What matters is that I'm sixteen years old, I have a horse, and I'm a borderline C-cup in bra size.

I hop up from my seat and stick the picture of my new horse into the frame of my mirror. What shall I name him? He's perfectly black, aside from his star. Onyx? Too common. Black Magic? Again, too common. He's tall and elegant and perfect. His name has to convey that. It must be perfect.

There is a knock at the door.

"Gemma? May I come in?" It is my mother.

"Sure, Mom," I say as she opens the door. "I was thinking of what I should name my horse."

She smiles and takes a seat on my bed. "It must be very exciting," she says.

"It is."

She smoothes the comforter on my bed. "I'm sorry this is all so sudden, Gemma. I know it's hard in you, to move away from your friends."

"Do we really have to move?"

"I'm afraid so, darling."

"But why? Don't I get a say in anything?"

"Gemma, don't be difficult."

Suddenly it's not about moving anymore. "I'm not being difficult! It's not fair!"

My mother sighs. "Life isn't fair."

"Spoken like someone that lived in the same house until she got married," I spit. My mother is silent, so I speak to keep myself from feeling bad. "You know, this will absolutely ruin my life. I'll have no friends. The city's dirty. I'll catch a disease just walking to school. Is that what you want, Mom? A diseased daughter?"

"Gemma you are being ridiculous!" Her eyes flash warnings. "Be grateful for what you have! The city is a fine place to live."

"Yes, if you want to get raped."

My mother rolls her eyes. "Not everyone in the city is a criminal."

"But Mom," I plead pathetically. "There are _homeless_ people in the city!"

"Don't be a brat! Now I don't want to hear anymore on this matter. I do have something for you if you'd care enough to be civil."

I cross my arms defensively. "Funny you should mention _caring_. Some parents actually _care _for the happiness of their children."

My mother stands up abruptly and throws a small box on the bed. Before I can utter another snide remark, she exits my room, slamming the door behind her.

I return to my window seat with a spiteful harrumph. I throw venomous looks at the box she left as if it was my mother herself. It shames me to admit that I am indeed curious about it's contents. I flop onto my bed and pick it up.

It's a small, velvet box – the kind notorious for containing jewelry. Inside is one of her old necklaces, a silver crescent moon hanging below a single eye. I've seen it from time to time when I'd snoop through her jewelry box, and I've always secretly coveted it.

I feel a stab of remorse for acting up. I have no excuse for acting like such a brat. With the box in hand, I tiptoe downstairs to the den, where my parents often relax before going to bed. I can hear them speaking from the spot just beyond the door, where they can't see me.

"She's just upset, Virginia. Sixteen is a tricky age."

"Tom never acted this way."

"It is different with boys." There is silence. "You never gave your parents trouble?"

I do not wait to hear my mom's answer. I walk uncertainly into the room. My parents both look up at me.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I whisper. "I acted terrible."

Her face softens and she opens her arms to hug me. "It's alright, Gemma. I understand."

For a moment, I let myself melt into the warmth that is my mother. She still smells faintly of Chanel perfume and roses, like she has every day for as long as I can remember.

"Thank you for this," I say, holding up her second gift to me.

"It's an heirloom," my mother explains, lifting the necklace out of the box. I lift my hair so that she can place it around my neck. "Your grandmother gave it to me when I turned sixteen, and you will give it to your own daughter someday."

The necklace is cold against my skin. I spy myself in the mirror. The pendant looks fierce, tribal, a complete contradiction to my personality. Perhaps that is why I love it so much.

"It becomes you," my mother says, looking at me with a glint of pride in her sharp green eyes. I was blessed to have been born with those same eyes, large, bright, and attractive. They are easily my best feature, my one redeeming quality. Otherwise I'd be a plain Jane, though at least not an ugly Betty.

"Our Gemma is becoming a beautiful young lady," my father says heartily. He and my mother exchange the sort of look I can only describe as "parental", warm, nostalgic, and proud, all wrapped up into one.

"Well darling, I'm going out for a bit." My mom kisses my forehead.

"Okay, Mom."

"I love you, precious," she says with an odd look on her face. Her eyes hold a sad look for some reason.

"I love you too," I say uncertainly. My mom is seriously freaking me out.

"I will see you later."

"Right, bye Mom."

When she leaves I say good night to my father and get myself ready for bed. I take one last look at my horse's picture and turn out the light, certain I'll dream of the endless shows and blue ribbons ahead of me now.

Instead I have a terrible dream. I can see my mother in the passenger seat of a car. The car is not the black Lexus she usually drives, but an ordinary-looking Sedan that could belong to any Tom, Dick, or Harry one might meet. The driver is not my father. It is an Indian man, about the age of thirty. Even in my dream, I marvel at the details I can pick out.

The man and my mother look anxious, worried. They speed down the empty road near the lake, the one with all the deer-crossing signs, the one with no streetlights. There is a car following them, an expensive-looking black car with black windows. It accelerates so that it trails right behind the sedan. My mother urges her driver faster, her green eyes round and fearful.

I want to wake up. But I can't.

The black car accelerates again, giving the sedan a warning bump. The Indian man looks down at the clutch; he is driving stick, but he cannot go any faster. My mother shrieks as a deer bolts in front of the car. The sedan swerves violently, wheels screaming in protest. It smashes into a tree. Smoke fills the car so that I can no longer see the occupants.

The black car stops. The door opens. A tall, hooded figure gets out. Fingers grasp at the hood. I am about to see the person's face, my mother's tormentor. Just a bit further…

The earth is shaking. I bolt upright in bed with a small yelp. "Mom?!" I cry out instinctively. I look around at the familiarity of my room and let out a sigh. It was just a nightmare. There is a banging at my door, loud and frantic. At least I know the source of the shaking.

"Come in," I call out, my voice still shaky from the bad dream. The door opens and my light is switched on. My father stands in the doorway, as white as a ghost. He clutches the cordless phone in his hand.

"What's wrong?" I ask, feeling sick.

"There's been an accident."

**What do you think? Concrit is lovely. And very beneficial.**

**It's hard to frolic with friends when they have Organic Chemistry exams to study for. **

**Is bored and therefore writing,  
LunaEquus**

**Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**This one's a bit short, but it's filled with...well, you'll find out. Enjoy!**

The hospital has always been an alien place for me. As cold and sterile as it seems, there is a strange comfort to be found in the strings of bustling nurses in their rainbows of scrubs. From my seat in the waiting room near the emergency room, I place my full attention in these strong women as they do their endless rounds with endless smiles.

"How are we feeling tonight, Mr. Gladney? I hear you have a bit of chest pain? Let's get you checked out."

The door closes and the calming voice of the nurse is cut off. There is silence, save for the distant sound of squeaking wheels and beeping machines.

My father is somewhere, pleading with someone for information. There is none, save for the initial news. _There has been a car accident. Your wife is a suspected victim._ A suspected victim? How can you not tell? Either you are a victim or you aren't. On the outside, I'm sullen and grumbling, angry at the inefficiency of the hospital. But inside I am terrified. I dreamt of an accident. Is it possible that I saw it happen? If so, is my mother alright? What will I do if she isn't?

The generic wall clock ticks, but the hands are stuck at one and six. Wasn't it one-thirty an hour ago? Is time really passing this slow?

There is one more occupant of the waiting room. He is a boy about my age, probably a bit older. He looks rumpled, probably roused from sleep as I was. A faded blue shirt that says "Whales Gone Wild" peeks out from his unzipped hoodie. We lock eyes every once in awhile, and for some reason it makes me feel naked. I draw my knees to my chest, fully aware that I must look five years old in my pajamas, but the want to care escapes me.

Instead I find comfort in his presence, and the urge to say something, anything to break the silence, is strong. But old habits die hard. I have always been too shy to strike up a conversation with the opposite sex, and a hospital waiting room hardly seems like a place to start.

I take in his appearance in stolen glances. He is, and how I have the interest to detect this is absurd, extremely handsome, with black hair that falls into his long-lashed eyes and full lips set in a worried line. When he isn't staring at his shoes or at the ugly pattern of the carpet, he glances often at the clock, before settling his eyes on me. I look up to meet his gaze and he looks away quickly, once more interested in his tattered shoe laces.

To avert my mind from the inevitable worry, I play a small game with myself. I study this stranger and try to figure out why he's here. Why would a teenage boy be alone in a hospital waiting room in the middle of the night? Perhaps he is a problem child, living alone with his grandmother, who tripped over his skateboard and had to be rushed to the emergency room in the car he stole earlier. No, that is far too morbid. He doesn't look like the sort to skateboard anyway.

He's really attractive, so maybe his equally attractive girlfriend has discovered she is pregnant, or perhaps she has been for awhile and has just gone into an early labor. For some reason, this possibility seems worse to me than the first. I would not want to see the lucky girl that gets to kiss him, touch him, go to bed with him…

Oh, what is the matter with me? The anxiety of this evening seeps through my veins like a poison, tainting my thoughts.

Whatever his reason for being here is, it must have come by surprise. His hair is messy and there is a sleepy, defeated look about him. It's a familiar look, a mirror of my own appearance. Is there any possibility that we are here for the same reason?

A weight like a boulder drops in my stomach. This boy is Indian, just like the man in my dream. Perhaps he heard the same way we had about the accident. Perhaps he had the same dream I did. Was it just a dream? Is there a connection?

"Um," I say uncertainly. My voice sounds strange and foreign after the long stretch of silence. He looks up, dead expression unchanging. "I was just wondering -,"

"There is still nothing they can tell us," my father says, sitting in the hard bucket seat next to me. The boy's gaze lingers on me for a moment, then looks to the clock, and drops to the floor.

"Where's Tom?" I ask.

"Just getting off for the night. He'll meet us here in a few."

"He doesn't know anything?"

My father says nothing. I'm afraid. This is surreal. My family balances on the edge of a scalpel. Where is my mother? Is she alright? I need my mom, she can't be hurt. I need her. It's not fair. I was so terrible to her today. She didn't deserve that and I don't deserve this.

Tom startles me as he slides in the seat on my other side. His face is pale and worried.

"Do you know anything?" I whisper.

"No. I'm an intern. You think they tell me anything?" he snaps.

"Sorry." My voice may as well be a ghost's.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm just…"

_I know. _

A doctor enters the room, his mask pulled down and a clipboard in his hand. We all stand, anxious for any news. Instead, he approaches the boy and speaks in a low, controlled voice. I try to close my ears, out of respect, but I still hear every word. The boy's brother did not make it.

Suddenly there is no comfort to be found in this stranger's presence. He appears to crumple inward, like a collapsed soufflé, as he drops back into his seat. His face drops into his hands and a muffled cry escapes him. It reminds me all too well that people die every day, no matter how much you wish they wouldn't.

The doctor now turns to us, all sympathetic and open. He is no longer a man in scrubs; he holds our mother's condition, our future, in his hands. When the words come I cannot believe them.

"I'm sorry, we tried very hard to save her, but there was nothing we could do."

This isn't real. These harsh fluorescent lights are playing tricks on us all, creating mirages of doctors that spew lies. I want to run, away from this hospital and from these lies. _Lies. _Instead, I collapse, my Care Bear printed knees melting into the ugly geometric carpet. A noise comparable to a howl escapes my father, the jolly man wounded, like Santa Claus shot down from the sky.

I'm dead. I'm dying. This isn't real. I'm dreaming. None of this can possibly be true. _My mother was alive and breathing just hours ago. _She smelled like perfume and roses like always. Just like she did when she'd pick me up from preschool and cut the crusts off my peanut butter sandwiches. Just like she did when she'd brush my hair at night and tell me stories of her childhood. Just like she is supposed to smell like tomorrow, and the next day, and the rest of my life. My mom can't be dead. She just _can't be_.

My brother is crying, choking on his violent sobs. I am stunned, on the floor. _It can't be._ I look up for help, in the rare occasion God might be hanging out on the textured ceiling. This is my fault because I didn't go to church. It's my fault for being such a wicked, ungrateful daughter. It's my fault because I dreamt it, wished it to happen somewhere in my subconscious. _It's my fault._

Tears cloud my vision. Anything could be swirling on that ceiling now, God, Satan, Johnny Depp. "Mama," I whimper, recalling how all I wanted when I woke up was to crawl into her lap. My eyes dart around the room. _Help me, Mom, I need you._

Instead my eyes find his, red-rimmed from crying. This time he doesn't look away. We stare at each other, tears running down our faces, joined by this one moment of misery. I don't know how long it is until I'm swept away by…someone, but the clock still reads one-thirty, or perhaps that is because I can no longer see.

**Okay, so imagining myself in Gemma's place was needed to write this and figure out her reaction, and damn it I cried a little! I would NEVER want that to happen to me. But, moving on.**

**Kartik.**

**Whales Gone Wild? Ahem. Delightful. Such an interesting fellow he'll turn out to be. Plenty of him in the next chapter. Well, not enough, but you know. You never have enough Kartik.**

**Is grateful for all the reviews so far,  
LunaEquus**

**Keep 'em coming, yo!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the reviews so far! I'm really excited about writing this. Enjoy!**

The summer passed in a blur. My mother's death brought a flurry of activity that we were all grateful to commit to, for it gave us something to do. There is something about mindless work, and lots of it, that dulls the pain of grief. Instead of wallowing in sorrow, I was an efficient machine, helping with funeral plans and being the rock my father needed. But all is still not well. Months have passed and the pain is no less fresh.

We packed up all the memories and belongings we've cultivated over the years and moved to the city. Where there was once a large house with a large backyard to play in, there is now an elegant penthouse that overlooks a bit of Central Park. It's large and spacious and was decorated in my mother's style - graceful, expensive, and a bit quaint. My father was right; I do have my own bathroom now.

I'd rather have my mother.

My horse has been my daily escape from all the pain. I had decided to name him The Great Gatsby, or Gatsby for short, and he is everything I could ever hope for in a horse. Day after day I visit him and ride, sometimes lessoning and sometimes just galloping in the field – just to get away from it all. When you're on a horse, you're above it all, and if you ride fast enough, nothing can keep up. Not even sadness.

And Lord knows I need that escape. Tom is about as changed as I; we're both more reserved, more serious, less argumentative. My father, however, is completely different. Night after night he cries and drinks the pain away. He is almost not my father anymore, as there is rarely a time when he is not working that he is sober.

But for some reason I cannot let it sink in. I'm a shell of what I used to be. Even my friends from home do not call anymore. But it's better that way, for they remind me too much of what was, what will never be again.

* * *

The school I've been enrolled at is a prestigious private school where the best of the best send their children for a $28,000 a year education. The Spence School, my second home for the next two years until I graduate. As I dress for my first day, a bit of my old self shines through. There is a uniform, and it is so stereotypically "prep school" that for a moment I want to put it on and parade around for my friends. But I don't really have any friends left, so I just put it on.

The uniform consists of a navy blue plaid skirt, pleated and too short for my taste. I already feel like a slut. A crisp white shirt, striped tie, and navy jacket complete the required dress code. I hate the tie, but like the jacket, because it nips in at the waist and shows off my ever-developing figure. I pull on knee socks and slip my feet into a pair of Tod's loafers and look into the mirror.

It is anticlimactic as ever. I look like a dork, and not in the cute way, but I have no time to change, and nothing else I can change into. A dress code is a dress code, and I don't want to violate anything just yet. I do however keep my mother's necklace on. I haven't taken it off since she died, except to shower.

The walk to school is uneventful. There is a street performer playing a trumpet (yes, at 7 am) and only two people ask me to spare some change. I had previously toured the school and pretty much know my way around, but the imposing ivy-covered walls still intimidate me. _You belong here, Gem. Relax. _

I ignore the curious stares from my classmates as I walk into my first class of the day – English. I'm somewhat early, and only a few students sit scattered among the available desks. A seat in the back beckons me, the perfect place to remain unnoticed until I can better establish myself as a nobody. I pull out my notebook and stare at the blank pages. White lined paper never looked so menacing.

Someone sits in the seat next to me. I look up out of curiosity, for there are plenty of open desks elsewhere. When we lock eyes I nearly wet myself. It's the hot guy from the hospital waiting room. He looks considerably better than he did that night, which means he is even more good-looking, an unfair trait. He wears the necessary uniform, blue jacket, white shirt, and tie, with khaki pants, but he doesn't look dorky at all. Granted, his jacket's unbuttoned, his shirt un-tucked, and his tie loose, but it looks good all the same.

I realize I'm still staring. I look away, blushing, and begin doodling in my notebook with fervor. His gaze burns into my head; he's still watching me, I can feel it. Who _is _he? If he lives in the city why would he be at a hospital near my house? This is so bizarre. I check the clock in desperation, but there's still ten minutes left until class is due to start.

"You're the new girl, aren't you?"

I look up to find him sitting sideways, head in his hand, facing me. "Um, yes," I squeak. He nods slowly. "Haven't I seen you before?" I ask, cocking my head so that it appears an innocent enough question. No need to elaborate that I feel there is something odd going on and that he is a part of it.

He stares straight into my eyes. I get a flash of déjà vu; it is suddenly that moment in the hospital waiting room. I see the bit of pain and helplessness swirling in his chocolate eyes and for some reason I feel comforted by it. This is a person who was there. He knows my pain. He _shared _it.

"I don't think so," he replies coldly. The ice in his voice startles me so much that my head snaps back from his tone.

"Right, sorry," I say, turning away. My cheeks burn as I stare at my notebook. I pick up my pen and pretend to intently shade the little alien head I drew earlier. That's exactly what I feel like, an alien.

_He's still watching me!_ I'm about to turn and ask him what his problem is when he speaks again.

"I'm Kartik," he says. All intentions to tell him off disappear. His voice is so fluid and sexy, like…melted chocolate one smears over a lover to lick off. Dear God, what is the matter with me?

"I'm Gemma," I say, my cheeks flushing up an inferno.

"I know."

"But how…?" I thought he never knew me from before.

Kartik smirks. "Gossip travels fast in this school." He gives me an odd look. "You really have to know who you can trust."

The intensity of his gaze makes me want to put on many layers of clothing and hide. "Right, I'll keep that in mind."

A group of girls enter the room, laughing and talking to each other. I instantly miss my friends from home. _Home. _I miss everything about home.

The girls sit in the middle of the room. It is obvious that these are the queen bees of the class. Everything about them screams expensive, from their highlighted hair down to their shiny fingernails. I move my bitten fingers from sight. My family has money, but we have never been so obvious about it.

One of the girls catches my eye. The way the others are crowded around her makes it obvious that she is the leader. Her hair is freshly blown out in the perfect shade of blonde and her makeup is carefully applied so that you really have to look closely to notice how small her eyes are.

"Hey new girl," she calls out, her voice as sweet as a songbird. "Nice socks."

Another girl laughs behind her hand. She is easily the epitome of New York City glamour – dark, glossy hair, perfect skin, and that effortless beauty you know it must take hours to achieve.

"Thank you," I say simply. I refuse to let them get the best of me.

However, they don't give up quite so easily. A third girl, one who has obviously had work done on her nose, cannot help but give her input. "Where did you get them? _The Gap_?"

"Yes, actually I did," I say. I can't keep my dormant reserve of bitchiness from creeping into my tone. "And while I was there, I saw that _exact same_ cardigan you're wearing."

"This is very expensive," she clips, visibly offended.

I lean forward, feigning the intention to whisper. "Did it cost as much as your nose job?"

She is about to blow up, but luckily the teacher walks in at that very moment, forcing everyone to pay attention. The blonde girl is the last to turn around; she gives me a long appraising look, then a small smile. I don't return it.

When I look down to turn to a fresh page in my notebook, there is a piece of folded paper there.

_I like the knee socks. Meet me in the courtyard for lunch._

There is no doubt who it is from, and I force myself not to look at him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kartik lean back into his seat with a sigh.

* * *

The cafeteria at Spence School is surprisingly nondescript for such a prestigious school, so it's no wonder most students prevent to eat their lunches in the courtyard. There is a scattering of wrought-iron tables with chairs for students to sit at, with billowing umbrellas to protect from the sun. I grip my Diet Coke and yogurt and peer around the tables, feeling like an idiot as I do so.

Kartik is sitting on the low stone wall by the carefully landscaped shrubbery, sipping idly at a bottle of Vitamin Water. He spies me and gives a small wave, beckoning me to sit with him. I am about to take a step, when someone loops their arm through mine.

"Hey new girl," the blonde girl from earlier says, all traces of menace gone. "Come on, you're sitting with us." She tugs me to move along with her.

"But," I protest feebly. Kartik glares at me and looks away disinterestedly. Oh well, there goes my chance with him. I follow the blonde girl, feeling oddly disappointed.

"So your name's Gemma, right?"

"Yes, and you are…"

"Felicity Worthington. My family practically keeps this school from closing."

I detest people that speak so openly of their money. "Good to know," I say tersely.

She leads me to a table where the dark haired girl from class sits, saving seats for us.

"Hi, I'm Pippa Cross," she chirps, extending her hand in greeting. I frown. Since when do high school girls shake hands?

"Now Gemma," Felicity says, her face trained into fake concern. "You weren't actually going to sit with _him_, were you?"

"Who?" Pippa asks, leaning forward, excited for a bit of gossip.

"_Kartik_," Felicity whispers as if his name is a disease.

Pippa's mouth opens in shock. "Oh no, not him!"

"What's wrong with him?" I ask, feeling oddly overwhelmed.

The girls exchange glances. "He's well, you know. Weird."

"Weird?"

Felicity glances at him to make it clear that she's talking about him. I throw Kartik an apologetic look, but he ignores us all and opens a book. It's too far away to read the cover. "Well, he keeps to himself. Doesn't talk to anyone. Even though he's like, kind of hot," she says.

Pippa giggles. "He doesn't talk to us even if we flirt with him."

"Maybe he likes men," Felicity says in a low voice.

"Fee! You're so bad!"

"Anyway, he's really smart. But like I said, he doesn't talk much. It's kind of freaky that he tried to talk to you."

I can hardly blame him for not wanting to talk to them. I feel so bad for him, but at the same time, I can't help but wonder…

Kartik shifts his position on the wall so that he's resting his back against the school. Dear God, he looks incredible. Could he really…like…men? I cannot say this notion does not disappoint me.

"You shouldn't talk to him, Gemma. It's for your own good," Felicity says with glinting eyes. "If you care anything about your image, that is."

I don't particularly care about my image. I never really had to.

So why is it that I find myself nodding my head in agreement?

Their polished heads nod back in approval. "You're really pretty," Felicity gushes. "You have lots of potential."

"Lose the socks though," Pippa adds. "They're horrendous."

I frown. Kartik said he liked them. I glance back at him, but he's still enthralled with his book. I notice the subtleties of his face – lips turned down at the corners, brows turned up in worry. He's sad, and I can't help but think it is my fault that he is.

**And the drama begins.**

**How am I doing so far?**

**The Spence School is an actual school on the Upper East Side for spoiled kids. It's very prestigious as well. And tuition really is 28k a year. Other than that, I made stuff up. Like the uniforms and the fact that it's co-ed.**

**Just changed her major to English,  
LunaEquus**

**Seriously, I must be mad. I decided that psych wasn't right for me, but I'm hanging on to philosophy. I just think English is a better fit for me. We'll see, I guess.**

**Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**You guys rock! Enjoy another chapter!**

If there is one thing I hate already about Spence, it's the curriculum. It wasn't enough that I had to take Biology at my old school during freshman year, I also have to suffer through AP Bio here. I could care less about ribosomes and interstitial fluid. And I hear we have to dissect a fetal pig later on in the year.

Um, gross?

The bio lab is state of the art and filled with new and expensive equipment. By the way Felicity Worthington looks around in approval, I can tell that it was because of her family that the lab is so advanced. She sits next to her friend Pippa, and the two look so out of place among the Bunsen burners and microscopes that I nearly laugh aloud. I'd _love _to see them try to dissect a pig.

I scan the room under the pretense of finding an open table to sit at, but I find myself looking for a black mess of curls instead. The search is partly in vain – Kartik is not here – but I do find one available seat.

I don't approve of judging based on someone's appearance, but I admit that even I do it once in a while. The girl I sit with is obviously a wannabe. She's short and chubby, but instead of accepting that fact and moving on, she tries to hide it. Or rather, she exposes it. She still wears her shirt tight and her skirt short, despite the blatant unattractiveness of the look.

There is a mousy look about her, like she's trying to hide within a hole in the wall. I immediately feel bad for thinking such things about her.

"Hi," I say in my most friendly tone. It sounds fake and syrupy. "I'm Gemma."

"I'm Ann," she says flatly without looking up.

"Nice to meet you," I say quietly. Is everyone in this school so unfriendly to new people? I realize most of them grew up together, but that doesn't mean they have to try so hard to make me feel like an outsider.

But that is just what I am – an outsider.

Class is about to start when the nose job girl hurries in the room, her face flushed and excited. She is such in a hurry to get to her friends that she trips over Ann's backpack on the floor.

"Watch it, Fatso," she growls at Ann. Her friends snicker evilly. Felicity and Pippa are among their number.

I wait for Ann to snap back at her, as any sane person would, but it never comes. From the look on Ann's face it is obvious that she is very used to it. I don't know whether I should feel sorry for her or frustrated at her meekness.

"What a bitch that girl is," I whisper. "What's her name?"

Ann looks at me in surprise. "Cecily Temple," she says. "Most girls like you think she's nice."

_Girls like me?_ What is _that _supposed to mean? Sizing up the situation, I realize it's a test. She wants to know if I am like them, the popular girls, or not. I decide not to answer one way or the other.

"Yes, well we had it out in English already," I say breezily. Let her know for herself that I'm not something to be stepped on.

"I know," she says. Her eyes have an unreadable gleam to them.

"You do?" What Kartik said was an understatement – gossip travels at the speed of light in this school.

"I'm in that class."

"Oh. I didn't see you there," I say.

The gleam is gone from her eyes, replaced quickly with dull acceptance. "It's okay. No one does."

It's a good thing that the teacher bustles in at that very moment, because I'd have had nothing to say. I have never met someone that feels sorry for herself so openly. I at least have the decency to keep it to myself.

After a short introduction, our teacher, a tall, gangly fellow named Mr. Card, announces that we'll use today as a refresher on microscopes.

"Microscopes are your friends in AP Bio," he says jovially. "Your intricate, delicate, _damn useful_ friends. Friends with benefits, if you will."

A tinkling of laughter runs throughout the class. Though he probably knows we are just humoring him, he appears satisfied. He instructs one student from every lab pair to retrieve a microscope from the back of the room.

"I'll go," Ann offers.

"Thanks."

All around me, chairs scrape the floor and backpacks are kicked aside as half the class grudgingly goes to retrieve their microscopes. I catch a few complaints from the students, mostly girls.

"My parents donate to this school every year. Can't they like, get someone to do this stuff for us?"

"Oh my God, this is so heavy!"

A crash at the back of the room makes me cringe. Someone has dropped their microscope.

"Watch it, Bradshaw!"

"Mr. Card, Ann made us drop our microscope!"

"What is this?" The teacher crosses the room in a few strides. "What's going on here, Felicity?"

Like everyone else, I turn around to watch the scene. Pippa and Felicity stand side by side, staring accusingly at Ann, who drops her head in shame. A microscope lays broken on the floor in between them. Felicity adapts a sorrowful expression.

"I was simply retrieving a microscope, a _brand new_ microscope, like you asked, Mr. Card. I had just lifted it from the shelf when Ann barged in and knocked my arm out of the way to get hers. I mean, I can understand the excitement over starting a new term of biology, but such _barbaric _haste is simply not needed."

"I-I didn't mean to," Ann says shakily. Even from my distance I can see that she is on the verge of tears.

"Yes you did!" Pippa screeches. "You wanted to ruin all the good things Fee's father bought for the school!"

"Pippa, please," Mr. Card says, rubbing his head. "Did I not ask for only _one _person from each lab group to come up and get a microscope? Perhaps if you hadn't felt the need to accompany Felicity, it would not have been so crowded and Ann would not have accidentally bumped into her."

"How can this by my fault?"

"It is no one's fault. It was an accident. Everyone get your microscopes and please sit down!"

When Ann returns to the table, she is beet-red in the face and sniffling.

"I know it wasn't your fault," I whisper.

"She dropped it! I didn't even touch her!"

"Watch it, Bradshaw. No one likes a liar," Felicity drawls from two tables over. She catches my eye and offers a dazzling smile. I can't take it. I don't know who Felicity thinks she is, but she definitely needs to be taken down a peg.

"I don't think Ann is the one lying here," I challenge.

"Oh?" A finely tweezed blonde brow arches. "Who _is _the liar then?"

I stare her down. "I think Daddy might be mad to hear about his investments being squandered by his little girl," I say calmly.

Her small gray eyes narrow to slits. "You can't prove anything," she hisses.

I shrug nonchalantly. Inside, my heart is pounding with the strength of a herd of horses galloping. Slowly, Felicity turns around, her eyes never leaving me. I let out a small sigh as I bend over the microscope. I can see the smallest hint of a smile on Ann's face.

* * *

Felicity approaches me just as the final bell rings for the day to set us free unto the streets of Manhattan. My guard goes up instantly, but I quickly find there is no need.

"Look, we got off to a bad start," she explains. "Let's start over? You seem like a cool girl and I'd like to be friends."

I study her face. She seems earnest enough and it would be nice to have friends again. "Okay," I say smiling.

She grins. "Great."

"Just one thing though," I add. I honestly don't know why these words bubble up. "Do you think you guys could be nicer to Ann?"

Her smile falters. "Be nicer to Ann? Why?"

"Because she's nice."

"Gemma, she's…"

"What, weird? Or just different from you?"

Her eyes flash angrily. "Don't put words in my mouth. Things are different at this school. Some of us are worth hanging out with and some aren't."

I cross my arms over my chest. "Guess I'm not worth hanging out with then."

She rolls her eyes. "Why are you so protective of Ann?"

"She's a nice girl." I could be lying; I don't even know her.

"Fine. I guess I'll give her a chance or something."

"Great, then I'll see you later." I grab my bag and head for my locker without looking back.

* * *

It is just my luck that it is raining. Back in the suburbs, rain was great. We'd splash around and jump in puddles like children, laughing harder the wetter we'd get. But in the city, rainy days are the worst. All the grime in the streets surfaces, creating oily slicks that look like industrial rainbows on the ground. Not only is there the possibility of slipping and breaking your neck, but also the probability of a nasty taxi driver cutting too close to the sidewalk and speeding into puddles that quickly become tidal waves.

I look up helplessly from under the awning of the school.

"Need a ride?"

I search for the owner of the voice. It comes from a gunmetal gray car pulled in front of Spence. Hmm, a stranger with candy? Abandoning my shelter, I step out into the downpour and look into the car. My heart instantly beats faster.

Kartik peers out at me curiously, like a child seeing a giraffe for the first time. He's offering me a ride, so he can't be mad at me right? Or are Felicity and Pippa right and he's just some psycho eager to skin me and add me to his collection of…skin. I shudder, partly from my overactive imagination and partly from the cold of the rain seeping into my clothes.

He shakes his head at my indecisiveness. "Get in."

I fumble with the door handle for a moment and manage to slide into the car without crashing into something or exposing myself. Miracles _do _happen, I suppose.

"Thanks," I say quietly. Something about him makes me feel small and vulnerable. He gazes at me for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"You're shivering," he says, reaching around to the back seat for something. He emerges with a worn-in hoodie, the kind girls love to steal from their boyfriends, and hands it to me.

"Thank you," I say again, putting it on. I'm instantly filled with the scent of him – warm, musky, and deep, all tied together with that untouchable scent that only certain males have. It's delicious and it takes all I can not to press the fabric to my nose and inhale deeply.

"So where do you need to go?" Kartik asks. I give him my address and he smirks "Of course," he whispers under his breath.

"What?" I ask, puzzled.

"Nothing."

He pulls out into the mad city traffic. I am surprised to hear classical music over the heavy rain.

"You like classical music?" I ask, anxious to keep the mood from falling into the realm of discomfort.

He offers a small smile that makes my belly shiver. "You sound surprised."

"Let me guess, you memorize sonnets and drink a lot of coffee," I joke.

"Well, you have me all figured out," he says with a laugh. "Now what about you?"

"What do you mean?" He brakes quickly to avoid an impatient taxi. Much to my surprise, his middle finger stays intact with the steering wheel. So much for stereotypical New York road rage.

"I don't get you."

His frank statement baffles me. "What's there to get? I'm just a normal girl."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Normal."

My eyes widen at him. "I _think_ so."

He bites his bottom lip to hide a smile. "We'll see."

A bunch of school buses picking kids up from the Metropolitan Museum of Art block the street, making local traffic near impossible to navigate. "This is madness," he says, making an illegal U-turn. The car behind us lays on the horn. This time Kartik's middle finger is up and ready.

I grin at his display. To my delight, he returns it with a knee-melting one of his own. "Gemma, do you want to hang out at my place for a bit?"

I briefly think back to Felicity's warning, but it makes no difference to me. I don't know her any better than I know him, and I've never received such an invitation from a guy. Fueled by my bold behavior earlier today, I accept.

**Bwahaha! Okay, intentional things that may seem like errors. Yes, this Gemma is more confident than AGATB Gemma, the reasons being how she's treated modern day as opposed to Victorian times. As the story goes on, it won't seem too different. And also, I know Kartik seems too nice now, but that won't last. I have my plans for both of them to keep them both in contemporary character. It will fit. I hope.**

**I have a confession. Anyone want to know why I write so much? Other than the fact that I love it...I skivv off on homework too much. I realized I don't like psychology anymore, so I can't force myself into reading for it. I'm the sort of person that is only motivated by written work. That's why I think English will be better for me. So now that I've revealed myself as a slacker, I will beg for reviews to make me feel less scummy. **

**Is losing motivation to finish Nectar of the Gods,  
LunaEquus**

**Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to everyone that reviewed! Your support makes this MUCH easier to write! Extra motivation! Jubilation! Enjoy!**

Kartik's place is a two-bedroom apartment in Williamsburg overlooking the East River. It's a typical guy's apartment, littered with rumpled clothing and the occasional empty soda bottle. Sheet music is scattered on the coffee table and an acoustic guitar is propped up in the corner.

"Sorry it's so messy," he says. "I'm not really the cleaning type."

"Oh it's fine," I say, waving my hand. "I practically live at the barn. I'm used to much worse."

He raises his eyebrows. "You ride horses?" I cannot tell for sure, but his tone seems condescending. My defenses immediately rise.

"Yes. Is that a bad thing?" I cross my arms over my chest.

He shrugs and grabs a handful of shirts from the couch. "I'm trying to convince myself that you're not one of them, but you keep making it harder and harder for me."

"Why does everyone keep saying I'm one of them? Who's _them_?"

"The spoiled little rich girls who think they rule the world. They live on Fifth Ave. They drink mimosas and ride horses and go to our school." He says this all with a straight face, which makes me believe that either he's actually serious or very good at keeping a straight face.

As much as his accusations anger me, I can't help but want him to see that he's wrong. I want him to _like _me.

"Well Kartik," I say in a playful tone. He gazes at me warily. "I may live on Fifth Ave, ride horses, and go to our school, but I prefer to keep my champagne and orange juice separate."

He doesn't look convinced. "I'll be right back," he says.

I collapse on the couch with a sigh. What am I doing here? Is he bipolar or something? One moment he's flirty, the next he's suspicious. Whatever happened to giving someone the benefit of the doubt?

He reenters the living room dressed in faded black jeans and an olive green t-shirt that shows off his delicious-looking torso. I press my knees together, feeling giddy and girlish and completely ridiculous. I shiver involuntarily when he looks at me, but that might partly be to my damp clothing.

"Kartik, I -,"

"Do you -,"

"Sorry," I say, blushing.

"You go first," he offers.

"Well, I just wanted to say that…I'm not the sort of uncultured snob you think I am."

He laughs. "I don't think anything of the sort."

"But you said…"

He sits on the arm of the couch and looks out the window. "If you were really one of them, you wouldn't be here. You'd be -,"

"I know, I'd be shopping at Barney's and complaining about the texture of my hair," I interject. He smiles at me and I feel like dancing. "Kartik, I'm really sorry about today at lunch."

"Don't think about it. That's why I invited you here."

"And why would that be?"

"Just to talk to you."

"Oh," I say softly. Does he really mean he wants to talk, or is this a ploy to make out with me? I must say I wouldn't mind so much if he attempted to stick his tongue down my throat. He looks as if he'd taste pretty good, and I'd love to run my fingers through his hair, up and down his arms, over his chest…

"Do you want something to eat?" Kartik asks.

"I'm fine," I say, shaking my head. Who can eat at a time like this? My cheeks burn with the thoughts of many ways to initiate kissing him. If I rest my hands on his thighs and tilt my head up just so… I shake the vision from my head and gesture to the guitar in the corner. "You play?"

He smiles slightly. "Sometimes."

"Are you any good?"

"You'll have to judge for yourself."

"Well then, will you play for me?"

"That's a privilege you'll have to earn," he says smoothly. His voice has me thinking of ways I'd like to earn that privilege and many more. I avert my eyes from his face to prevent my mind from running wild. Something on the adjacent armchair catches my eye, a faded blue shirt that says "Whales Gone Wild".

If there were any doubts in my mind that Kartik is the same boy from the hospital, they instantly vanish, as does the giddy feeling in my stomach.

Kartik follows my gaze and sees the source of my sudden change in expression. He blanches.

"Why did you lie to me?" I ask.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says aloofly.

"Bullshit!" I cry. "You were there!" He's taken aback by my sudden outburst. "You have something to do with it, don't you?"

"Smart girl," he says with a sneer. "What tipped you off?"

"You lost your brother that night. I dreamt that my mother and an Indian man died in a car crash. Do the math," I say quietly.

Kartik's face pales even more. "What else did you dream that night?" His voice is but a whisper.

"I don't know," I say, shaking my head. "A black car. A hooded figure."

He slides onto the couch next to me and takes hold of my shoulders. "Did you see who the hooded figure was?" he asks, his eyes wide. His face is so close to mine; I can see my reflection in his dark eyes, and I don't like what I see. A timid girl sits in my place, scared and small.

"Obviously not," I snap. "It was hooded."

"Gemma, listen to me," he says slowly, tightening his fingers on my shoulders. "There is something out there that was after your mother, and chances are, it will come for you next." He shakes his head. "It wanted you in the first place."

"What are you talking about?" My voice is shrill.

His eyes soften and he releases me. "Can I see your phone?"

"I don't know, can you?" I say sarcastically as I hand him my cell phone.

"White Chocolate." He smirks. "How cute."

"What are you doing?"

"Programming my number."

"Aren't you being a little presumptuous?" I accuse, reaching for my phone. He pulls it away and calls his own phone to program my number.

"If you ever see that car again, or that person, I want you to call me."

"Right," I say, taking my phone back. "Are you going to tell me _why_?"

Kartik sighs in an exasperated fashion. "Why no, you're not impatient at all."

I roll my eyes and cross my legs. For a moment I see his eyes flicker to my thighs and I smile to myself, glad to know I have _some _form of control over him. "So," I say.

"So what?"

"So tell me. What is going on and why am I a part of it?"

"Your mother was part of a secret organization," he explains.

I stare at him. "Nice try, we aren't part of the mob."

"I never said that!" He closes his eyes briefly to keep his temper in check. "I'm trying to explain this in a way you'll understand."

"Go for it. Chances are I won't believe you anyway."

He furrows his eyebrows in an adorable fashion. I hate myself for noticing this, but I'm hormonal. "Why not?"

"You're a stranger."

Kartik laughs bitterly. "Gemma, if you only knew! I've known your mother for as long as I can remember."

"Okay. Continue. I still don't believe you."

"Fine. Your mother was a member of a group of women called the Order. Have you ever heard of them?"

"Sure," I say, shrugging. "She said it was a church group. They did the rosary or something."

Kartik shakes his head. "The Order does not believe in God. They can, however, see heaven, in a matter of speaking. But that's irrelevant now. All you need to know is that your mother had enemies, and now that she's gone, they're after you."

"How do I know that _you're _not my enemy? Who are you to tell me this anyway?"

His eyes glisten. "I am part of another group called the Rakshana. We protect the Order."

I blink absently. "Right. So why wasn't my mother protected?"

Kartik leans forward so that his face is but inches away. My eyes flicker to his perfect lips as he speaks. "My brother was her guardian. No doubt you saw what happened to him."

I'm speechless. Kartik reaches out a hand and touches my throat. For a split second I am certain he will kiss me, but it turns out he is just examining the amulet my mother gave me.

"The Crescent Eye," he murmurs. It sends shivers down my spine. "You are one of the Order, you know."

I am held in a trance in my close proximity to him. His scent overpowers me, makes me want to trust him with my life, makes me want to take my clothes off and ravish him…

"Then who will protect me?" I ask, moving my face just a bit closer to his. I raise my eyes and his finger brushes my collarbone.

"I was assigned to be your guardian," he whispers. His breath is sweet on my face. Just a few centimeters away…

Kartik's eyes are so deep, so intense. Almost as if he seriously believed this…

Suddenly the spell is broken. I snap my head back and stand up.

"What is it?" he asks, concerned. Is he sincerely concerned or just trying to make me feel comfortable?

"I have to go," I say, grabbing my bag from the floor.

"I'll drive you home," he offers.

"No! I'll just…take a taxi."

"Gemma…" He touches my shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" I cry. "I don't believe a word you said. Felicity was right, you _are _weird."

His eyes flash angrily. "_I'm _not the one who envisioned her mother's murder."

I blink back tears. "You know what, Kartik?" He glares at me with his arms folded. "Go to Hell." I turn on my toe and leave, making sure to slam the door behind me.

I walk for blocks in blind anger, mentally cursing him and myself for trusting him. It isn't until I've walked for half an hour that I realize I'm lost, and still wearing his hoodie. "Damn it," I hiss under my breath. It's getting dark and I'm practically in the slums. Okay, so it's Brooklyn, but no place in NYC is safe for a girl after dark.

I need to hail a taxi, but first I need to find one. The streets are deserted on this side of town. I retrace my steps, walking back towards the psycho's apartment. It's a shame; he really was attractive. Still is. But crazy. It's be like dating Brad Pitt's character from Twelve Monkeys.

Screw it. I'm just going to call for a taxi. I flick open my phone and curse as the stupid touch screen goes off and brings me to my contacts list. I scroll down until it hits the newest entry. Kartik. My thumb hovers, ready to delete him, but something stops me.

"Whatever," I mutter as I exit the list and call for a taxi.

I'm reassured that I'll be picked up in five minutes, but it can't come soon enough. A black car slowly drives down the street. Its windows are tinted so much that I can't see inside. My heart pounds. It can't just be a coincidence? It's the same car from my dream. Kartik's voice echoes in my mind. _If you ever see that car again, or that person, I want you to call me._

It disappears from sight and I let out a breath I wasn't even aware I was holding. There are plenty of black cars in New York. It was probably a celebrity and that's why the windows were tinted. Try as I might to reassure myself, I nearly faint as it drives down the street again from the opposite direction. It slows to a stop.

Thankfully, my taxi arrives just as the door of the black car opens. I practically launch myself inside. "Fifth Avenue, please!" I say. It isn't until I'm within sight of my building do I finally start to relax. _Just a coincidence. Kartik creeped you out. Nothing to fear._

Nothing to fear.

**Ooh I love Kartik's apartment! You will be seeing much more of it, so make yourselves at home.**

**Gemma sooo wants to hypothetically bone Kartik. And Kartik probably wants to actually bone her too. But they're not buddies at the moment, so it's not gonna happen. I hope I'm rightfully establishing Kartik as an intense, indecisive, insecure guy. He doesn't know what he wants to think. Well, he wants Gemma to believe him and not be one of _them_. **

**Whales Gone Wild,  
LunaEquus**

**Please review! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks for all the reviews so far! I hope I don't have to keep begging for them now! Enjoy.**

You know it's a bad thing when it's only the second day of school and you already don't want to go. It isn't just that I can't bear to face Kartik after what happened yesterday in his apartment, but another instance has anxiety pitting my stomach every time I think of him. A good kind of anxiety, the kind you _want _to feel, the kind notoriously associated with crushes. It's not as if I _want_ to like Kartik – I'd much rather ignore him – but my body is rebelling against me. Stupid hormones.

I lean heavily against the sink and rest my forehead against the mirror. Hello, ugly freckles, nice to see you're alive and well…not. I prod at the dark circles under my eyes in disgust. It's all Kartik's fault that I was up half the night. Well, actually, it's my stupid raging hormones' fault.

My dream started out ordinary enough, a near perfect recount of the events at Kartik's apartment. He was telling me all that crazy talk, only this time I was buying it. Our faces were close, his hand hovered at my neck, but this time around I didn't pull back. I simply…melted into him. Our lips touched softly at first, then an urgency took over. My fingers wound in his messy black hair as my shirt was unbuttoned by hasty, fumbling fingers. As his hands cupped over my breasts, I stopped him. My eyes fluttered open to meet his. His eyes were filled with such raw emotion – pity, understanding, love, and sadness – that the strength of his gaze woke me. I tossed and turned for most of the night with one nagging thought. Did I conjure up his eyes, or was it all really there?

So now I'm truly afraid to face Kartik, for more than the obvious reasons.

As a result of dragging my feet all morning, I'm now borderline late for school. I hurriedly slip my feet into black satin ballet flats, sans knee socks, and grab my bag. No need to mention that I look like a drugged insomniac or someone who has been punched in the face. No doubt this will be brought to attention by Felicity and her crew, who will take turns lecturing me on the importance of cucumber slices and such. I'm sure.

And surprisingly, I'm right.

"Gemma," Felicity says at lunch, shaking her head. "Haven't you ever heard of foundation? You look homeless."

"I had a bad night's sleep," I say defensively. Everything out of this girl's mouth puts my guard up.

"_Cucumber masks_," Pippa stresses. "You put them on when you first wake up, and you're fine by the time your hair is done. I swear by it."

"Pip's a bit of an insomniac," Felicity explains. "Too many vodka tonics before bed."

"Ah," I say, unsure if she's serious or not. Except for some champagne, I've never really had alcohol before. I don't indulge them in this shortcoming of mine.

"And Fee sleeps like a baby," Pippa giggles. "Too many boys before bed!"

I avert my eyes and pretend to be fascinated by my yogurt. I'm embarrassed by their bluntness, the ease with which they share private things. I also feel like a fourth grader, for I've never really even kissed a boy, let alone have sex with one. _I almost kissed Kartik though. _My dream breaks through the mental cage I tried to lock it in.

As if on cue, Kartik chooses this moment to walk by the table. Our eyes lock and I get the fleeting vision of his dark hands roaming my pale body, his lips planting kisses up the center of my breastbone…

The magic is dispelled as he narrows his eyes into a menacing glare. I can feel his hatred radiating off him so strongly that I feel the urge to cry. I don't deserve this. I glare right back at him.

Felicity is the first to notice. "Wow, what was _that _about?"

Pippa, as usual, is clueless. "What? What happened?"

"If looks could kill, Gemma here would be dog food," Felicity says, nodding her head assertively. "You and Kartik have a fight?"

"Sort of…" The three of us turn and watch as he settles into his usual corner by the bushes and opens up his book. I still cannot read the title. It's probably called _Freaking Out Innocent Girls for Dummies._

Felicity watches me with her sharp eyes. "Spill. What happened?"

I glance hesitantly at his form, unsure if I want to exploit him for this, especially to these girls. Felicity and Pippa seem to be the radio type, spreading gossip over the school as easy as beluga caviar on a toast point. His voice echoes through my head. _You really have to know who you can trust._ Whatever. I can trust them. They're not the ones that spew absurd lies while trying to kiss me.

"You're not going to believe this," I say. I take a deep breath and recite the encounter between Kartik and I, leaving out the part about my mother's death and the dream I had about it.

"Wow." Felicity widens her gray eyes. "Just…wow. That's creepy."

Pippa's perfectly shaped nose wrinkles in disgust. "He's even weirder than I thought!" she exclaims, loudly enough for most to hear her.

I could bury my head in shame. Kartik's head is up and his eyes are on fixated on me. Cautiously, I meet his gaze and instantly wish I never came to school today. Who knew that such a handsome face could ever look so frightful? Felicity was right, if looks could kill, I'd be dead twice over, rotting in Hell while Hitler flirts with me. Wonderful. Smashing. Good show. Ugh.

"Uh oh, he's mad," Felicity sings out, winking at him. Without any further shows of anger, Kartik shoves his books into his bag and walks back into the school. I feel another stab of remorse.

"Maybe he's not _that_ weird," I offer weakly. If anything, I could try to prevent the rumors from spreading beyond our little group. "I mean, I _have _heard of the Order before."

Pippa shrugs. "Whatever. He's hot, so it's okay."

Felicity's eyes glitter. "I have an idea. Let's play with him a bit."

"_Play_ with him?" Pippa's face is gleeful. "Like, tie him up and…"

"No! Though I suspect Gemma here wouldn't mind that so much." Felicity's grin is feline, like a cat that's just trapped a mouse. That is, if cats could smile.

I'm blushing. The vision of tying Kartik up and ravishing him has struck a chord of longing deep within my core. Felicity and Pippa, however, don't play any part in the fantasy. Strangely enough though, it does involve knee socks and a riding crop.

"You like him, don't you?" Felicity demands.

"No!" I say too quickly. "I just think he's…really…hot."

They both smirk, perfectly glossed lips curving into knowing smiles. "Like I said before, we've both tried, but he is just not interested," Felicity sighs. "Well, he sort of showed interest in Pippa, but that's because she's Pippa. Every guy wants her."

"I'm irresistible," Pippa giggles.

I was never the jealous sort, but as time goes on I find myself envying Pippa more and more. She's absolutely gorgeous. They both are. I don't even know how to use mascara.

"But! From what you said, he showed a lot of interest in you, Gem," Felicity points out. "Granted, in a creepy "I want to suck your blood" sort of way, but hey, maybe he's into kinky things." She taps her pink lips with a silver-nailed finger. "I think you should try to seduce him."

"What?!" Under the table, I'm gripping my knees with my chewed-up fingernails.

"Yes, we'll give you a makeover. Make him want you. Then, when he goes in for the kiss, push him away."

"What's the fun in _that_?" Pippa asks.

Felicity rolls her eyes. "To put him in his place."

"Gotcha." Pippa goes back to picking at her salad and pretending to eat it. She may be satisfied with Felicity's answer, but I have no clue what she means. Not that I'll ask, of course.

"So back to my original plan," Felicity says. "Let's pretend to be members of this Order. We can look it up online after school. We'll go to my place, give Gem a makeover, plot ways to torture Kartik, and I'll have Millie makes us quesadillas."

"Who's Millie?" I ask.

"Our cook."

"Oh." I'm not fazed. We have a housekeeper, Marlena, that cooks and cleans for us now since my father can't be bothered.

"So what do you say?"

"Sure," I say slowly.

"I have a go-see at four, but I'll skip it," Pippa says. "I didn't want to go anyway."

"Pip's a model," Felicity explains, as if I couldn't already tell by her flawless complexion and thin figure. "Her parents make her do it." Pippa shoots Felicity a warning look. Felicity clears her throat. "So let's meet in the entrance hall after school."

* * *

The entrance hall of Spence is done exquisitely in rich blues and golds. A glass trophy class lines the wall, showcasing the numerous accomplishments of the school's talented students. Looking closely, I see various plaques and other awards for soccer, football, field hockey, lacrosse, and basketball, among other sports as well. There is a blown up picture of an all-school production of _Les Miserables_. Surprisingly enough, Ann Bradshaw is center stage, eyes closed in theatric sadness. 

"I was Cosette," a voice says timidly from behind me.

"Oh! Hello Ann," I say. I point to the picture. "You look good on stage!"

She shrugs and gives a small smile. "It's pretty much the only thing I'm good at, acting and singing. Well, at least I _hope _I'm good at it. It's why I'm here," she says offhandedly.

So she is a scholarship student, one of the charity cases taken on by these upper class boarding schools to prove to the world that they don't discriminate. It's all a farce really.

"Then you _must_ be good," I say. Ann's face breaks out into a true smile, something I've never seen before. Not that I've known her for long, but in principle I feel it's a rarity.

"Gemma!" A clear voice rings out. Felicity and Pippa slink over to me like runway models, glamorous and confident. "Ready to boogie?"

I'm vaguely aware of Ann retreated back into her shell. She casts them one fleeting look of envy, then she turns to go without offering so much as a 'goodbye'.

"Wait!" I call after her. "Maybe Ann would like to get in on this too?"

Felicity freezes, remembering our little agreement. There is nothing she can say to dispel Ann that would not be counted as rude. Her hesitation has Pippa confused.

"Is she joking?" she whispers to her blonde friend. "Like, really, is she?"

"Sure," Felicity says, forcing a smile. "Want to join a secret society, Ann?"

"What?" Pippa hisses. "Fee!"

Ann looks at me uncertainly. "Come on, Ann, it'll be fun."

"Okay…" she says slowly. "I guess I'll come too."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the four of us are crowded around Felicity's antique mahogany desk, looking up the Order and the Rakshana on the internet. Our search is so far unsuccessful, and Pippa is fast losing patience. 

"This is so _boring_," she whines, throwing herself across the plush, white carpet. "When's Millie gonna hurry up with our quesadillas anyway?"

"Quiet, Fatso," Felicity barks playfully from her chair. Pippa takes no offense. How could she? She's nearly perfect. Felicity turns to me. "Can't we narrow it down somehow? There's billions of pages with the word "order" in them. And all the Rakshana ones are like, in Indian."

"Hindi," I correct.

"Whatever."

"I don't know," I mutter. "I'm trying to think what else Kartik said about it." I think back again to yesterday afternoon, when he told me about everything. When he told me I was of the Order. He touched my mother's necklace… "The Crescent Eye!" I blurt out.

"What the Hell?" Pippa's muffled voice sounds from under the satin pillow she has pressed to her face in fake agony. Ann throws a disdainful glance in her direction.

I pull my amulet out from under my shirt and hold it up. "This. I think Kartik said that it meant I was part of the Order." He didn't say it directly, but it was practically implied.

"The…Crescent…Eye…" Felicity mumbles as she taps the words out on the keyboard of her MacBook. "And the Order… Ooh! Bingo!"

"What is it?" Pippa is up like a shot, not so kindly shoving Ann out of the way to get a look at the screen.

"Hey!" Ann protests weakly, but no one pays her any mind. Even I am preoccupied with the search engine's results. For the first time since it happened, I wonder if maybe Kartik was telling the truth.

**Oh, oh! I wonder what they spied with their little eyes!**

**Kartik is hot and I'm eating Subway,  
LunaEquus**

**Please review or else Kartik will never get his wings. And that will be sad. And I also won't update until I get at least 10 reviews. That goes for all my stories. I got off my lazy butt so you can too!  
**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks a bunch so far! I'm glad you guys are liking this - it's a lot of fun. Hey, I know about the whole "Victorian speak" in this story, but you know what? I actually think and talk like that (sans accent). You can take the girl out of Victorian times, but you can't take the Victorian times out of the girl. I'm trying to make it a bit more casual! Enjoy!**

"OrderNet: Serving the Prestigious Community of Today's Priestesses," Felicity recites clearly. "Ooh, this sounds official!"

She and Pippa erupt into laughter, but I cannot find the humor. My heart pounds painfully in my ribcage as I take in the deep maroon and cream tones of the web page. A likeness of the Crescent Eye emblazons the banner. I've seen this site before, once on the rare occasion when my mother was using the family computer. She had clicked out of it as I walked behind her, but I never thought anything of it.

This can't be a coincidence.

"Read the webmaster's note," I prompt.

"Web_mistress_," Felicity corrects, rolling her eyes. "_Welcome, old friends and prospective members. As you may or may not know, the Order is an organization from ancient times, reaching back to our Pagan foremothers. These incredible women were skillful in healing and enchantments, and it is an honor to be cut from their very cloth. But one does not become an Order priestess by want alone. There is a long process of qualifications that one must fulfill to even be counted as a prospective. Do _you_ have what it takes?_"

"How lame," Pippa says. "It's just some creepy cult." She giggles again. "No wonder Kartik was all into it!"

"He said he was of the Rakshana," I murmur, gazing at the screen until the words melt together. Felicity throws me a knowing look that has me blushing. I lean over and take hold of the wireless mouse. "Maybe this site will say something about them," I say, typing it into the site-wide search. My heart sinks when the next page loads.

"I'm sorry, this part of the site is members only," Ann reads over my shoulder. "Too bad, Gemma."

"No, not _too bad, Gemma_!" Felicity exclaims. "We're _all _going to make accounts!"

Just then, there is a knock at the door. "Come in!" Felicity yells. "Oh Millie, you're the best!" she gushes as a harried-looking woman enters the room with a tray of fresh quesadillas and salsa. The room instantly fills with the smells of cheese and spice, and I find I'm starving.

The website is forgotten as we all help ourselves to food and talk about our families.

"My father's a business mogul," Felicity says through a mouthful of cheese. "He does like, a lot of stuff. He's never home. My mother heads a bunch of charities or something. Most of the time she just drinks and watches old movies though."

"My parents are both has-beens," Pippa says. "My dad was in a band and my mom used to act. That's why they want me to be famous." She frowns. "It sucks. It gets to the point where they just don't want to listen to what _I _want to do."

"That _does _suck," I say. "My dad's a lawyer."

"What about your mom?"

I flinch. Felicity's question is innocent enough, but it still stings to think about it. "My mom, um, passed away." I look down at the half-eaten mess of tortilla and gooey cheese in my hand and realize that I'm not hungry anymore. In fact, I feel like I'm going to throw up.

"Oh," she says softly. "I didn't know."

"When did she die?" Pippa asks, her mouth full. The insensitivity of her tone makes me want to wind her perfect hair around her neck and pull with all the strength I can muster.

"Last June," I say stiffly. I pull a bit of cheese so that it stretches like a string between my hands. "On my birthday."

This last bit set off the comfort alarms in their consciences. "I'm so sorry!" Felicity exclaims, throwing her arms around me. "That's terrible!"

Pippa sets down her quesadilla and joins the embrace. "I could never imagine losing my mom," she says. "I mean, some times I wish she'd die, but you know...not really."

"Mmm," is all I say. No, I _don't _know. As a pre-teen I may have had some nasty thoughts, but I'd never wish death on either of my parents. Tom, however, remains a different case.

Ann remains in her spot. "My mom died too," she whispers. Felicity and Pippa crawl back to their spots. "When I was a baby though. My dad remarried." She offers no more information into her past or her family, but her face reveals that she is clearly unhappy. It makes me realize that I am not the only one with a broken family, even though I feel that is the case now.

"You know, it sucks," I say, interrupting Pippa's vocal desires to borrow Felicity's new Prada ankle boots.

"What does?" Ann asks.

"That Kartik talked about my mom like that. That he said those things. He had no right to." I crumple a napkin tightly in my fist.

"He's a jerk," Pippa says, rolling onto her back.

"All the more reason why we should make him pay," Felicity says, her eyes glittering.

"I should have smacked him," I mumble, tossing the napkin onto the empty plate. As much as I vocalize my distaste towards Kartik, I can't help but think he might have been telling the truth. I don't know why I keep dissing him, especially now that we have found some authenticity to his claims. Well actually I do know why. By hating him, I'm liked by Felicity and Pippa, who genuinely seem to be nice, if not a bit shallow.

"You know, if he was ugly, I'd totally make his life a living hell," Pippa says.

Make that _very _shallow.

"How would you do that, Pip? Flash him and not let him cop a feel?" Felicity grins wickedly. "Not that there's much to feel, skinny."

"At least I fit into that Versace dress your mom bought at the trunk sale."

"Yes but that's _Versace_. Totally tacky."

While they bicker about the importance of being a size double zero or whatever, I scoot closer to Ann, who is looking very out of place and miserable.

"Do you miss your mom?" I ask softly. Part of me wants to forget about my mother completely and move on, but the other part wants to hold on, no matter how sad it makes me feel.

"I don't remember her," Ann replies, playing with the long fibers in the carpet. "But it's still hard. I wonder if maybe my own mother…" She trails off and blushes, once again trying to crawl into her shell.

"What?"

She shrugs and doesn't meet my eyes. "If maybe my own mother would have loved me."

I don't quite know if she's being serious or not, but I haven't seen any other attempts at humor, so I take it she is. "Of course she would have! All mothers love their children," I state with confidence. All the mothers I've ever known were of the same cut – warm, kind, trustworthy, and safe.

"Not all mothers," Felicity mumbles. I hadn't even realized she was listening in.

"Yeah, my mom hates me," Pippa says nonchalantly.

"I seriously doubt that," I say.

She flips a dark chunk of hair over her shoulder. "No, it's true. She's jealous of me."

"What?!" I furrow my brows in disbelief. "What kind of mom would be jealous of her own daughter?"

She shrugs. "Mine."

"Whatever," Felicity cuts in. "Let's get back to this Order business." Her face is set in an angry grimace. She reaches up and jiggles the mouse to bring her computer out of its screen saver. "Let's make accounts with it."

"I don't want to go first," Pippa whines, kicking her feet into the air.

"Neither do I," Ann says quietly.

"Gemma should go first. It was her idea." Felicity releases the mouse and lounges on her side.

"No it wasn't…" I protest.

"Well, you brought this whole thing up and you have the necklace, so go for it," Felicity says, waving her hand dismissively.

"Fine," I say, taking my seat at the desk. After a few clicks I make it to the sign-up page. There is a disclaimer before the entry fields. "_Let it be known that applicants are not guaranteed entry to the site. Upon review of your application, you shall be notified via email on whether or not you are considered deserving of the site's many reserves of information and of a title within the Order. Please fill out the following fields to the best of your abilities and be as honest and precise as possible." _

"Wow, they're really…thorough," Felicity remarks. She flips on the TV.

"Are you sure we should bother?" Ann asks. "I mean, it doesn't seem likely that we will be chosen anyway."

"Yeah, it sounds like it's meant for only a bunch of old hippies," Pippa says, adding in her two cents.

"This will be interesting," I murmur, typing in the usual information asked when signing up for any site. Name, birth date, email address, zip code, etcetera. "What should my username be?" I muse aloud.

"SexyMama16," Pippa says, giggling as usual.

"Yeah, right," I say, making a face. I have a thought. "Maybe we should all have corresponding usernames."

"Yeah…" Felicity says. I can see the wheels turning in her head. "What's special about the four of us?"

"Everything," Pippa says.

"No, really."

"We all have different hair colors," Ann points out. She cocks her head to the side. "Eye colors too."

"What if we each have an element?" I suggest. "That's really witchy."

"You're brilliant, Gem!" Felicity explains. A blush of satisfaction creeps on my cheeks. "Who wants to be what?"

I know I want to be water, but I don't want to be the first to say it. "Well I want to be water," Pippa says.

Felicity narrows her eyes. "_I _want to be water."

"So do I," Ann says. The three of them look at me.

"Guilty," I say with a small smile.

Felicity sighs heavily. "Well that's out. Any other ideas?"

I open another window to the site and search for the webmistress' username. "Well the site owner's name is Circe," I say, tapping my finger against the mouse in thought. "So we can pick out goddess names."

Felicity looks around. "What do you guys think?"

Pippa shrugs. "I like it."

"So do I. Good then. I want to be Artemis," Felicity says, smiling widely. "Goddess of the Hunt."

Pippa sits up, her violet eyes excited. "Ooh! I don't remember who she is, but I liked that one with the pretty name! Um, Persephone!"

"You should be Aphrodite," Felicity says, twirling a lock of Pippa's hair. "The goddess of beauty and love."

Pippa blushes. "Nah, that's too cliché."

While they bicker over Pippa's goddess name, I think over the myths I'm familiar with. My favorite one is the tale of Selene and Endymion, the myth I chose to do a report on my freshman year of high school. I had originally fallen in love with the painting of them done by Sir Edward Poynter because I thought I looked like Selene with her red hair and pale skin.

"I want to be Selene," I say, pulling up the picture on Google.

"Hey, that looks like Kartik," Pippa remarks, looking over at the picture.

"Huh?" I study the picture closer. Endymion does indeed resemble Kartik. My heart beats just a bit faster.

"If you're Selene, does that mean you're going to prance up to Kartik in a meadow while you're both naked?" Pippa finds this extremely funny. I don't.

"It's just a painting," I say, pretending not to be miffed at her immaturity. "Who do you want to be, Ann?"

"Oh I don't know," she says. "What goddesses are known for singing?"

"Wikipedia!" I sing out stupidly. I am so lame. After a few searches, I have the answer. "Calliope," I say. "_Beautiful-voiced._ Perfect."

Ann blushes. "Thank you. Calliope it is."

"We are so cool," Felicity says. "Are you done, Gemma?"

"Nope, there's another page of stuff they want to know."

"Like what?"

"Interests. History of extrasensory perception or other accounts of paranormal occurrences. Then there's a checklist. Wow. They _are _thorough."

Her eyes gleam. "Just think how cool it will be when we're accepted though."

"This isn't really about toying with Kartik anymore, is it?" I ask, verbalizing the question I've withheld for awhile.

She appears to be offended. "Of course it is. Why else would I be wasting my time?"

Though I suspect there are many reasons for her to be "wasting her time", I say nothing. I've been really good at that lately.

**Go look at that painting by Sir Edward Poynter. It's gorgeous and they do sort of resemble Kartik and Gemma. At least, they do at the low resolution I see it at.**

**So, how am I doing? Am I succeeding at bringing AGATB into the new millennium? I have plenty of other ideas, especially for how to get to the realms, etc. Super psyched. EDIT: I'm an idiot. I mixed up Athena with Artemis. It has been fixed.  
**

**Is wondering what a hangover is called if you didn't actually sleep, because that's what she's feeling now,  
LunaEquus**

**I have reached new heights of extreme lightweightness. About three glasses of pinot grigio and I was gone. Yeah.**

**PLEASE REVIEW!!! Pretty please with Kartik on top AND whipped cream and cherries and sprinkles and hot fudge and um, Sambuca.  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**You know what? I love my reviewers. So glad no one caught the terrible mistake last chapter, but it has since been fixed. Hehe. Enjoy!**

I can't believe I let them give me a makeover. Whatever gave me the idea that I might actually be able to walk home in the high heeled boots Felicity gave me because they are _so last season,_ I don't know. I have enough trouble keeping my balance in flats. However, Felicity and Pippa were true to their word; they gave me a makeover and I am pleased with the results. For the first time probably forever, I feel more than pretty; I feel like I can conquer the world, even in my school uniform.

Walking along Madison Avenue is always a pleasure, and I detour briefly on my way home from Felicity's. I pause to look longingly at the front of Betsey Johnson's boutique where a black velvet and lace mini dress beckons from a mannequin. The store is closed for the day, else I'd probably buy it, or at least try it on. With a guilty smile, I picture myself in it, sitting next to Kartik while he plays his guitar for me. What is up with my obsession over him? I just met him!

With a frustrated sigh, I turn to meander my way up Madison Ave to Fifth Ave. As I walk, I cannot shake the odd feeling that someone is watching me. Sure, there are people all around, mostly tourists looking for pictures in front of their favorite designers' boutiques, but no one appears to pay much attention to me. I try to shake it off. Maybe I'm just paranoid from talking so much about the Order.

So we all submitted our applications for OrderNet, laughing and joking about the "thorough" process it entailed. None of my friends seemed to have any experience with strange dreams or black cars or cute stalkers, so I lied on the application. I didn't want them to find me weird, or worse, I didn't want them to view me like they see Kartik.

Okay, now I'm certain that someone is following me. A car, moving just a bit slower than the traffic. A black car, with black windows and silver rims. My legs move faster without a mental request, as if my body recognizes the danger. I'm a young girl, alone after dark, wearing a short skirt and high heels. I look like a tramp, no worse – I look like a sixteen-year-old girl trying too hard to fit in.

I stop suddenly. Let the car pass. Who says they are following me? They'll just drive on… My heart beats in my throat, blocking my normal flow of air. _God help me, they're stopping too. _A car honks somewhere in the line of cars blocked from moving, but the black car doesn't budge.

_Move, Gemma!_ Where to? I can't run in these stupid heels! I've no time to really think before a hand clamps around my wrist and pulls me sideways into a small alley between buildings. I let out a small scream, but another hand claps over my mouth. I'm spun around and that is when I see my tormentor.

"Kartik?"

He looks agitated and…scared? He looks over his shoulder cautiously. "Why didn't you call me?"

"W-what?" I'm stunned. "Who says I have to call you?"

He grips my wrist tighter. "I told you to call me if you ever saw that black car again."

My mouth drops opens. "_You _were following me!" I try to pull away from him. "Let me go, you…creep!"

He rolls his eyes but does not release me. "Yes, I was following you. If you recall, that is my job – to make sure you don't get harmed."

I want to trust him, to ask him why this is all happening. I want to do so many things, but I find I can't. "You're still going on about that, aren't you?" It slips viciously from my lips before I can stop it. Why must I play these games?

Kartik's eyes seem to darken behind his long lashes. His lips twitch in annoyance. "You are a stupid girl, do you know that?"

"I am not! I was one of the best in my class last year," I say childishly, trying to cross my arms. He struggles to pull my one arm back, but I glare at him and he drops it. I cross my arms over my chest spitefully.

"I don't mean book smarts. You _know _what I'm talking about. I know that you believe what I said."

"Oh, do you?" I snap. The fact that he is right just seems to spur my anger.

He leans in close so that I smell his scent. My breath catches in my throat. "Yes, I do." He puts a hand behind my shoulder and pushes me towards the street again. "Come on, I'm walking you home."

"Such a gentleman," I grumble, even though I'm grateful for his security. The black car seems to have moved on, but we both look for it anyway.

We walk in silence, even though there is much to say. As we near the green awning of my building, he finally speaks. "When you're ready to admit that you believe me, call me. And if you see that car again…"

"I know," I say, rolling my eyes. "I'll call you."

Kartik walks me to the door, where the white-gloved doorman stands, pretending not to watch us. He turns to say his goodbyes, when he freezes. In the light of the lobby streaming through the glass doors, we are cast in full light for the first time tonight. He stares at me, unblinking.

"What is it?" I ask, terrified that I have something on my face or some other disgusting impurity.

He shakes his head. "Nothing," he says slowly. He looks at his feet for a moment. "Um, yeah. You know, call me if…" He glances at the doorman.

"I will," I say, desiring nothing more than to steal away to my room to check out what he could have been staring at. A sudden, violent zit? Bad breath? You can't stare at bad breath, but it renders the same response.

He leaves before I can say anything else. I watch him for a moment as he walks in the direction we came, the streetlights glowing orange on his hair. I wonder who drives that black car, and why I should be worried about them and not Kartik. A silent prayer works its sneaky way through my conscious. _Watch out for him…_

In the privacy of my own room, I drop my bag to the floor, kick off Felicity's shoes, and look into my mirror. _What had he been staring at? _It was as if he was seeing me for the first time, even though he never reacted that way when we actually met. He must have had a lapse in brain functioning. I hear boys do that a lot.

I take a moment to admire my freshly made up face. My eyes, lined and mascara-ed, look larger then they ever have before. They look darker, haunted, beautiful. The rest of my face, though still freckled, looks smooth and clean. I feel like a porcelain doll. Could this be what Kartik was staring at? In any case, the man who invented makeup is a genius.

"Gemma."

A sudden voice at the door startles me, but it is only my brother. "Hey, Tom." He looks thin and tired. "What's up?"

"Nothing," he says, tracing the wood trim around my door. "Have you noticed anything different about Dad lately?"

This question catches me off guard. "What do you mean?"

"Well, since Mom died, he's been…"

"We all changed!" I exclaim, feeling the rising need to defend our father. "Nothing's the same for any of us."

Tom runs a hand through his blond hair. "Yes, but Dad is especially different. He's been drinking…"

I bite my lip in worry. There is no denying my father's nasty habit. "I know," I whisper. "But what can we do? It's like we don't exist anymore." My bottom lip trembles and my heart is clenched in that dreaded vice of grief. My mother died, and now it feels like I'm losing my father too.

Tom crosses the room and pulls me into a hug. "I don't know what we can do," he says, releasing me. "But I can ask around at the hospital, see if anyone can help." He nods to himself and runs another hand through his hair. "I'm exhausted, Gem. This is all so…draining."

"Tell me about it. I wish Mom was here."

He flinches at the mention of our mother. "So do I," he says softly. He looks at me for a moment. "You look pretty."

"Thanks. A few girls at school gave me a makeover."

Tom's face hardens just a bit. "Gemma? You won't tell anyone about Dad, will you?" It's more a demand than a question. "I'd prefer if we kept it secret for now…"

"That's fine." I wouldn't want people to know anyway.

"Well, then. Good night," he says, turning on his heel to leave.

"Night, Tom."

When he is gone I shower and change into pajamas. As the school year has just begun, our teachers have not yet assigned homework, so I do not have that diversion to pass my time. So I sit on my bed, bored.

It's only nine at night and I have nothing to do. Well, that's not true. South Park is on, but the remote controller is across the room on my dresser, and I am in my bed with no desire to move. I stare at the remote intently, begging it to grow legs and hop on over here so that I don't have to get up. No luck.

With a heavy sigh, I heave myself out of bed and go to my dresser, but for some reason the controller isn't there. "What the -?" I look around my room and spy it instead on my bed. _Did I do that? _I must be going mad.

I fixate my eyes on the stuffed horse my grandmother gave me when I was five and will it to move to me. _Come on, Bailey Pony, move just for me…_ At first nothing happens. I ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach and stare harder, holding my breath until my head hurts and I see spots. All of a sudden, it flies across the room in a silent arc, landing softly in my hands.

A laugh escapes me as I look at the tattered form of a once-white horse in my hands. _I made it move with my mind! _Does this mean I'm psychic or something?

Once the novelty wears off, and quickly it does, a pit of panic grows in my stomach. _What is going on?_ Questions swarm my conscious – should I call Kartik and tell him? Will he believe me? Does this mean there really is an Order? Am I really a part of it? Why didn't Mom ever tell me?

The last question affects me the most. I feel hurt that she left me without telling me these things. For the second time tonight, tears creep through my ducts, pooling in my eyes until they overflow. The room looks glassy and smudged this way. "Mom," I cry aloud. My voice is but a ragged whisper. "Why did you have to die?"

I fall onto my bed, clutching Bailey Pony to my chest. "Everything's going crazy, Mom. Everything is falling apart without you." I sob into my pillow until my nose runs and I taste tears on my lips. "Help me," I whimper, as I cry myself to sleep.

I'm dreaming that I'm with Kartik again. We are in his car, and I am instructing him where to drive. Tchaikovsky streams through the speakers, and the lofty music is the only uplifting thing about the situation. We are following the car that once held my mother and his brother. It is the same road, the same night, the same eerie silence aside from the music and the engines of the cars.

On either side of us, trees loom over the road as if they are trying to knit back together to heal the gash that is the road. In the darkness, we can only see the nearest trees, but they glow gray as if this was part of the movie The Blair Witch Project. Somewhere in my subconscious, I realize this is no ordinary dream.

"Where are we going?" I ask, even though I am the one giving the directions.

"There is something special about these woods," Kartik responds. His eyes remain fixed out the front window. "We only need to find where."

I don't understand. The car in front of us disappears near the turn in the road. Instead, headlights shine from behind us; now we are being chased.

"Shit," Kartik says under his breath. He accelerates the car so that the speedometer reaches past ninety, but it is nothing for our chaser. The headlights behind us flash menacingly, so we both turn around to look, even Kartik, though he is driving. In the light, I try to see the driver, but all I see is a dense black where the face should be.

I turn back around and scream. "Kartik, look out!"

Like in the dream I had before, something darts in front of the road, only this time it is not a deer. It is my mother.

The breaks aren't working properly. Kartik yelps in fear. We are about to hit…

I wake up before the collision.

**Okay, so by now you may realize that this is only based on AGATB. The plots will sometimes seem parallel, but I'm adding in some other things. And that's all I'll say on that matter.**

**Kartik is so silly, what with the pushes and wrist grabbing and staring. Sexy boy.**

**Her apartment still smells like smoke because she almost set fire to a quesadilla earlier today,  
LunaEquus**

**Please review! You've all been great so far! Concrit's the way to go! **


	9. Chapter 9

**Warning: If domestic violence upsets you, don't read this. Just saying.**

A few weeks have passed since my telekinetic incident and nightmare. I attributed the whole thing to nerves, and nothing weird has happened to me since. It's almost like life has returned to normal, or at least what normal might feel like some day. OrderNet hasn't responded to any of us, and Felicity has lost interest in the plan. While a part of me is disappointed, I am also relieved, for it must mean that there is nothing paranormal about me, and I'm just fine with that.

The truth is, after my strange nightmare, I woke up in a panic and logged back on to OrderNet. I emailed the webmistress and explained everything to her, begging for some explanation of why these things are happening to me. As the days wore on, I felt sillier about that email, and truthfully I'm glad no one has gotten back to us.

Kartik and I have spoken minimally, only in passing during group assignments in class and the odd greeting that slips out before I realize that I don't want to be talking to him. There have been no more black cars, and he seems happy for that, but I still find him gazing at me when he thinks I'm not looking.

I should be happy. I should feel relieved. But I'm not. Each day has an anxious air to it, as if I'm subconsciously waiting for something else to happen. Part of me wonders if I'm waiting because I _want _something to happen.

October is a beautiful month. The leaves are just starting to turn and school has not yet lost that shiny, new feeling. Classes are still interesting, teachers are still friendly, and people have not yet found reasons to dislike me. I am still the new girl, but Felicity sees to it that I am taken care of.

The weather is getting cooler, and the nights are getting longer. The air has that harsh, faraway scent of winter that you can detect only if you breathe deeply enough. Of course, this is difficult in the city, where every deep breath has you hacking up a lung thanks to pollution.

This morning it is still dark as I wake up and get ready for school. The Weather Channel says that the day will be overcast, and I dress to match. I choose the gray uniform skirt, with black tights and gray tweed flats. My new black cashmere V-neck completes the look, and with the makeup instruction given to me, I feel quite pretty.

I pass my father on the way out. He is looking thinner every day, and dark circles shadow his eyes. "Have a good day at work, Daddy," I say cheerfully, giving him a hug. He smiles shakily at me, but his eyes don't even seem to notice me. I wonder when I became invisible.

"Morning, Gem!" Felicity says brightly as I stride into English. "Cute shoes."

"Thanks, Fee," I say, sweeping my hair back with a headband. It is blown out straight and falls in layers down to just underneath my shoulder blades. I idly finger a few red strands and briefly scan the room. From his usual seat in the back, Kartik catches my eyes. His eyebrows furrow and his lips part like he wants to say something, but Pippa has arrived and she demands my opinion on her new haircut.

"I like it," I say, knowing full well she expects me to gush all over her.

She pouts. "That's it? You just like it?"

I tap my lips with a finger, enjoying my bit of power over such a snob. I do like Pippa, but her shallowness sometimes makes me hate her a bit. "It's pretty."

She frowns and turns to Ann, who has since joined our threesome. "What do you think?"

"I_ love_ it," Ann gushes, right on cue. "You look perfect." Dear Ann, always counted on to kiss butt and inflate egos.

Pippa smiles, satisfied. Felicity's face breaks out into a sudden, gleeful grin. She leans over to Pippa. "You should ask Kartik what he thinks!" she whispers excitedly.

Pippa claps a hand over her mouth. "No! I so should!"

"Don't!" I exclaim.

They give me an odd look. "Why not?" Felicity demands.

I'm not sure why not, I just know I don't want Pippa prancing around in front of Kartik. "Because, err…class is about to start."

Pippa stares. "So?"

"The teacher might get mad," I say stupidly. Felicity fixes me with a piercing look, and I know she can see right through me. Miraculously though, the teacher does come in to start class, so I am spared.

But not for long.

Felicity tosses a note on my desk. _What was that about?_

_What was what about? _I scribble back. Pippa cranes her head around to watch us pass notes. A storm cloud passes over her beautiful face.

_You were defending Kartik._

The teacher looks at us pointedly, so I hide the note from sight. I am glad for the brief interruption, as it gives me a chance to think up a response. _I was not. _

Felicity stifles a bitter laugh. _You so were._

_Whatever._ When I toss the note back to her, I look fixedly at the teacher, to let Felicity know that I'm done arguing. She shakes her head in disappointment.

Pippa surreptitiously hands a note to Felicity. A carnivorous smile crosses Felicity's glossed lips when she opens the folded note. Without a moment of hesitation, she passes it to me. Pippa's eyes widen in horror.

I'm not sure whether I should laugh or be offended. Badly drawn onto the paper are the stick figures of a curly haired boy with a K on his shirt and a big-butted girl with a G on her shirt. They are holding hands and wearing clown noses and clown shoes. _The Freak Show Love Connection_ is scrawled across the top in Pippa's loopy handwriting.

Pippa and Felicity are both watching for my reaction. I tuck the note away and ignore them, feeling my cheeks burning with the strength of their gazes.

When class ends, I pack my things up and leave the room brusquely. I have no desire to finish the day, no matter how good I think I look. Leave it to someone as shallow and insignificant as Pippa to make me feel worthless. I hate her. I _hate_ her!

I've only skipped school once in my life, in middle school. My best friends and I spent the day getting ready for the dance that night, trying on crazy dresses and doing each other's hair. We never even got caught, as it was the end of May and our teachers stopped caring. In hindsight, it was a silly reason to skip school, but it was worth it. If there was ever a good reason, this is it. If I stay for the rest of the day, I might blow up at someone.

I manage to sneak out past the receptionist, who is occupied with the janitor. "Do you need me to check your pipes?" he asks as she giggles like a teenager. Gross.

The brisk air is a balm on my flushed skin. I stand outside the school for a moment, marveling at how nothing seems to change in the city. It makes girls like Pippa seem that much more insignificant. I instantly begin to feel better.

"Skipping school, are we?"

My stomach flip flops at the sound of his voice. I turn around to see Kartik leaning against the stone archway of the entrance, his black pea coat unbuttoned and his hair slightly tousled from the wind.

"None of your business," I say haughtily.

A mocking smiles curls upon his lips. "Anything _unusual _happen lately?"

I shrug nonchalantly. "Nothing." It's not exactly true. I did happen to see a homeless man _tending _to himself in front of a Laundromat this morning, but it is too scarring to bring up.

"So you haven't seen anything out of the ordinary?"

"No."

A wave of relief washes over his face. It's kind of adorable. "That's good," he says, nodding to himself.

"Yes," I say tersely. "Can I go now?"

"Where are you going?" he demands.

I quickly think up a place where he'd dare not ask to accompany me. "Shoe shopping at Bendel's," I quip.

"What? You're not taking your posse with you?"

"I have no _posse_," I say coldly.

"But you're part of one. Felicity's. A shame, really; you had the potential to be a cool girl."

I cross my arms. "Oh really? Tell me, Kartik, what posse are _you_part of? Oh that's right, the _Rakshana_. Is that why you keep following me? Staring at me? _Leave me alone._"

He smiles sadly. "Just you wait, Gemma. Wait until this illusion you're living in comes crashing down. Then you'll be glad I'm here."

I'm speechless. Kartik shoves his hands into his pockets and walks towards the general direction of Central Park. Tears of disbelief floods my eyes, but I blink them away furiously and hail a cab. Retail therapy might not solve my problems, but it sure will help.

I receive a text message from Tom while the cab is stopped at a light near Madison Ave. '_Im gonna talk 2 dad abt drinking 2nite.'_

'_good luck' _I text back. That is another issue weighing me down – my father's apparent alcoholism. A few nights ago he threw a book across his study, crying that our mother had been having an affair with Kartik's brother. It was one of the few times I have ever been afraid of my father, but I am glad to know the truth. Mom wasn't having an affair, but there is no way I can tell my father why she was with Amar. It is yet another thing I must internalize.

Hours later, I return to my penthouse laden downs with bags from some of my favorite stores. Among their contents, that little black dress from Betsey Johnson and purple velvet pumps from Bendel's. Although I have succeeded in spending my dad's money, my mind is no less cluttered with worry than before. Kartik's words keep replaying in my head like a skipping CD. In a way he is right – my life is a lie, but I can't recognize that as truth. It hurts too much.

After homework, I take a long bath and dress in my favorite pair of pajamas. Well, my new favorite, as I can no longer wear my Care Bear ones after my mother's death.

On AIM, Felicity is desperately trying to get a hold of me, but I have nothing to say to her right now. I feel betrayed that she passed that note to me, and truthfully I've had it with their Kartik-bashing. Though now I'm not too fond of him either. With a groan I realize I am doomed to never have friends. Doomed. What is wrong with me?

Even Ann takes their side now that she has been accepted into their group. There's gratitude for you. If I were to suddenly die, I'm sure no one would even come to my funeral. They'd give my clothes away to the poor and sell my dear Gatsby to some psycho that would turn him into a pair of pony skin boots. Maybe Kartik would come to my funeral, but only because he stalks me everywhere else. Death is no exception.

Oh, I am a terrible girl. Of all the people I've met, Kartik is by far the most genuine, even though everything that comes out of his mouth is absolutely ludicrous. And he's so handsome…yet I shun him for the favor of Felicity and Pippa. I was wrong. I said they were the shallow ones, but it's actually me. I am the shallow one, and because of it I've missed my chance to befriend him.

Not that Felicity, Pippa, and Ann aren't fun to be with, because they are. They're a lot of fun despite their individual shortcomings. Hey, we all have flaws. But what I hate is that I must choose between them and Kartik, but I'm not even sure what Kartik is like. He's hot and mysterious. And he plays the guitar.

Which makes him hotter.

A sudden shout from the living room rouses my attention. It is followed quickly by another. Tom. I bolt from my room to see the problem and I'm horrified when I find out.

My father is doubled over in a drunken stance, shouting at Tom. My brother tries to quell him unsuccessfully.

"But Dad, I wasn't implying anything, I just want you to get help!" He holds his hands up defensively as our father makes to hit him.

"Daddy, no!" I cry out, running to Tom without thinking. My father's fist connects with the side of my cheekbone, hard enough that I see stars. The room fades in and out for a moment. I vaguely see our father bawling like a child as Tom helps him into a chair. Once my senses snap back, I run back to my room, knowing that if anything, I must get out.

I throw a few necessities and a change of clothes into my schoolbag and grab my phone. I briefly consider calling Felicity, who is the closest thing I have to a best friend right now. But if she knew about this…

_You really have to know who you can trust._

Kartik.

My hands shake violently as I try to open my contacts list. The touch screen of my White Chocolate goes off crazily and I drop it in frustration. "Damn it!" I cry, dropping to my knees. When I finally steady myself enough to find his number, I press the send button and pray with every inch of me that he will answer.

**Wow. So yeah. What do you think of the direction I'm taking this? I have a pretty clear idea of the next few chapters, and it will get better.**

**Sorry for the delayed updates. Even though it hasn't even been that long. I've had midterms and many a philosophy paper to write. Plus I'm pretty damn sick with a sinus infection and my roommate problems have escalated to a point where I'm ready to commute a 40 minute drive twice a day rather than be in the same apartment as that bitch. Ughh!**

**Had to cancel a horse show to go to the immedicenter,  
LunaEquus**

**Please review! Give opinions - good or bad! Longer reviews are so much better than short ones! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks for all the reviews so far! Another chapter awaits. Enjoy!**

Ten minutes later I am standing just outside the lobby, shivering in my pajamas as I wait for Kartik to pick me up. I'm stunned at how easily he agreed to come get me, but I'm very grateful. I hurried past a pleading Tom ("Everything's under control now, Gemma, you can stay!") and brushed off the concerned doorman, and now I am waiting, numb from the cold and the experience.

Kartik gets out of the car when he pulls up in front of my building. He's wearing a NYU sweatshirt and blue plaid pajama bottoms. He looks adorable, but I can't concentrate on that right now.

"What happened?" he asks softly, leading me to the car. I shake my head desperately, for my throat is tight from crying. His eyes linger on my left cheek. "Gemma…"

"Just get me out of here!" I squeak. A sob racks my body, and I turn my face away from him. With a sigh, he pulls away from the curb. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Don't be," he says. He flicks the radio on and smooth jazz fills the car.

"Your taste in music never fails to surprise me," I say tearfully. I risk a glance at him. Kartik's profile is lit up by the orange bands of streetlights that comb over him as the car moves. A smile tugs at his beautiful lips.

"Did you expect me to listen to rap?"

"Not at all."

"Well, I do like Kanye West," he admits. "But that's not exactly rap."

"No," I say, surprising myself with a laugh. "It isn't." I'm amazed at how Kartik can make me forget everything. But now that I've acknowledged that, it all comes crashing back. My father, drunk, hitting me. It is more than just that. It is the loss of comfort and security, the knowledge that nothing will ever be the same. My father will never be the man he used to be, my daddy, who'd watch TV after work and call me his little princess.

No. Princesses don't get hit. Especially not by the kings that are supposed to be their fathers. The king of the castle is now the town drunk, and the land is under siege.

Tears well up again, and I cannot hope to stop them. One strangled whimper is all it takes for Kartik to realize.

"Gemma, what is it?" he asks, his voice laced with such sincere sympathy that I want to throw myself in his arms and cry more. I cannot throw myself into his arms, but I do sob harder.

"Do you want me to pull over?"

"No," I moan. "Just keep driving."

"Where do you want me to take you?"

I want to say home, but I have no home anymore. Home is where you feel safe and warm. I haven't felt that way since my mom died. This brings on more tears, though I can't really imagine that there could be more. Kartik pulls over next to a coffee shop and rests his hands on his thighs.

"So," he says, cocking his head towards me. "Tell me."

All I can think of his how terrible I must look, all puffy-eyed and teary. "Don't look at me," I sniffle.

An exasperated noise resounds in his throat. He lightly touches my left cheek. It stings at his touch. "Who hit you?"

I stare at my lavender Egyptian cotton covered knees and say nothing, only sniffle again in response. He reaches across me and fishes through the glove compartment for a pack of tissues. For a moment, his scent is enough to console me.

"Thanks," I mumble, taking a tissue from him. I wipe my face and blow my nose as inoffensively as possible.

"I won't tell anyone," he prompts.

"I know," I whisper. "That's why I called you."

We fall silent for a bit. I know in my heart that I can trust him, but I just can't will my mouth to form the words. _My father hit me._

I study him out of the corner of my eye. Kartik looks out the window at the world around us, but there is a steady air of patience about him. He looks as if there is nowhere else he'd rather be, even though it is a Friday night. I wonder if he has a girlfriend that would be jealous if she knew he was with me. Before I can stop it, the question is out of my mouth.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Kartik's head snaps around fast, a look of bewilderment on his face. "No," he says, sounding kind of shocked. "I don't."

"Oh," I say, unable to ignore the feeling of relief dancing in my stomach. It is quickly stomped on by another question. I surprise myself again with my boldness. "Do you have a crush on anyone?"

He scoffs. "I'm a little too old for _crushes_."

His statement strikes me as odd, for even my brother has claimed to have crushes on girls, and he's nineteen. Kartik's only eighteen. I begin to wonder if Felicity's suspicion about Kartik is correct.

"Felicity and Pippa think you're gay," I blurt out.

Kartik bursts out laughing. "Yes, they would think that, wouldn't they?"

"What do you mean?"

His face develops a hard sneer. "You don't know them very well, do you?"

"I do too," I say defensively.

"They're upset because I remain the only guy they have not succeeded in _hooking up _with."

I frown. "Oh? Why didn't you?"

Kartik looks out the window. "I don't take kissing lightly. It has to mean something."

A warm, tingly feeling spreads throughout my chest. I had no idea Kartik was such a romantic. He is obviously embarrassed, so I cease my drilling, surprised that he even answered me.

"My father," I say quietly.

"Hm?" He fixes his brown eyes on me.

"My father hit me." Silence follows as if my words were a vacuum. My eyes flood with tears. As they fall, so does the avalanche of feelings I've been keeping in for so long. I tell him all about fighting with my mother before her death, how terrified I felt after my dream, the days after, my father's steady decline, his drunken outbursts, and how I feel as if I'm so lost and confused over everything. It is odd to say these things to someone I barely know. But like confession at church, I just feel better when I'm done.

"Gemma, I'm so sorry," Kartik says softly. That is it. No gushing about how wrong it is, no hugging, and no "everything will be okay". And somehow, it is enough.

He lets me sit for a bit, until my breathing is even and my sinuses are clear. "So," he says, reaching to put the car back into drive. "Where do you want to go?"

"Somewhere safe, where I can spend the night and not have to think of anything or face anyone." I laugh, knowing there is no such place.

Once again, Kartik surprises me. "Would you object to staying at my apartment?" At my shock, he quickly seeks to elaborate. "You'll be safe, you can play mindless video games, and you won't have to talk to anyone…unless you want to," he says with a small smile.

"Thanks," I say. "I'd like that."

We make our stop-and-go way from the Upper East Side to Brooklyn. When Kartik lets us in to his apartment, the TV is still on. For the first time I realize he probably lives with someone else.

"Are you sure it's okay that I stay?" I ask, standing by the door timidly.

"Sure. It's only us." He sits on the couch and beckons for me to sit with him.

"Oh. You live alone?"

"My brother used to live here too," he explains. "Now it's just me."

"But how do you afford it?" I blurt out without thinking. I blush at my rudeness.

Kartik smiles. "Think of the Rakshana as a job. They pay for school, my car, this apartment…and all I have to do in return is look out for you. It's a pretty good deal."

"Yeah," I say softly. "So…is _this_ only because you have to?"

"What do you mean?"

I feel my brows furrow in thought. My cheek stings more than ever. I don't want to even know what it looks like. "Did you pick me up and listen to everything only because you had to?"

Kartik rubs at his knee. "No. This has nothing to do with the Order or the Rakshana. If I didn't want to listen, I wouldn't have."

"You won't tell anyone, right?" My voice sounds small and weak, and I hate myself for it.

"I won't tell a soul," he says. I know I can believe him. "Anything on TV you want to watch?"

I could tell him. Yes, I'd like to watch Family Guy. This could be a normal, friendly night, drama free from this point forward. Of course then I'd feel guilty.

"I made something move with my mind," I say so quickly that I'd be surprised if he caught a word of it.

"Come again?"

I take a deep breath and will my knees to stop shaking. "A few weeks ago, I made something move with my mind."

Kartik is skeptical. "Are you sure you weren't just imagining things?"

"I did it twice."

"I see." He plays with the drawstring of his sweatshirt. "Have you tried it since?"

I shake my head. "I was too freaked out."

He points to a Playstation controller. "Move that."

"I don't want to." I don't. I won't. What if I can't make it move? He'll think I'm a freak.

"Come on, do it."

I stare at the controller and picture it flying through the air to meet me. No sooner do I think it, it happens. Kartik's jaw drops open. "That's crazy," he says.

"I know." I say, handing it to him. "What does this power mean?"

He looks intently at his controller, studying it for any abnormalities. "You know you are one of the Order. I guess you're just coming into your power."

"Like that stupid movie about the superhero kids at the school? Sky High?"

"I guess. I never saw it." He sets the controller down on the coffee table. "Is there anything else you can do?"

I shake my head. "No. Kartik? Where were my mother and your brother going that night?"

Kartik looks at me, his eyes wide and sad. "I never knew. Amar didn't tell me."

"Oh."

And with that, we drop it. We watch Comedy Central until the very early hours of the morning, when neither of us can keep our eyes open for long.

"I'll sleep on the couch," Kartik offers. "You can have my bed."

My heart beats in a frenzy. I can't sleep in his bed! Oh God, I want to, but I can't! "That's okay," I say, my voice a few octaves too high. "I'd rather have the couch."

"You sure?"

I nod emphatically and exhale slowly as Kartik goes to get me a blanket and pillow. After we say our goodnights, I curl up and gaze out the window. With the exception of sleepovers with my friends or my sleep-away riding camp up in New Hampshire, I've never really been away from home. It's not that I'm scared here, just…out of my element. Every little sound is magnified in the dark, and I can't stop thinking that Kartik is only a few rooms away, possibly with his shirt off.

Kartik is so…confusing! Earlier today, we were ready to rip each other's heads off on the front steps of Spence, but just an hour ago we were watching Chappelle's Show like old chums. Even after I treated him horribly, he still dropped everything to come to my rescue. As much as I don't really want to, I think I'm falling for him.

**Geez, Gemma. FINALLY, you dense girl! You finally get it. Ah well, let's see if Kartik gets the picture now.**

**I'm really sick. Like, now I have a hardcore ear infection on top of my sinus infection, which ironically affects my throat more than my sinuses. I'm not happy, so give me lots of long concrit-filled reviews and make me happy!**

**Is at the end of her rope!,  
LunaEquus**

**Please throw this author a bone and review! **


	11. Chapter 11

**Thanks SO much for the reviews! You guys rock my world. (Wow, how cheesy) Enjoy!**

"Are you sure you're okay to go home?"

"Yeah," I say determinedly. I smile to reassure Kartik, but I can tell by the look on his face that he sees right through me. We hover awkwardly in the living room, shuffling our feet and pretending that last night never happened. I did not sleep well last night, and was up and dressed by sunrise, thinking idly about maybe leaving before Kartik woke up. Sleepy desperation kept me sitting on the couch watching cartoons until he emerged from his room, bleary-eyed and messy-haired and too cute for words.

For the sake of this delicate sort of new friendship, I wish I had the serenity to stay put and hang out, but I'm so anxious that I need to go _somewhere_. And poor Kartik is stuck with driving me. I bite my lip worriedly, hating how much of an inconvenience I am.

"I can take a taxi," I offer quietly.

Kartik frowns. "No, I'll drive you."

"But -,"

"It's not a problem, Gemma," he says, somehow sensing my hesitation.

"Thank you."

Even Saturday mornings are bustling with traffic, but Kartik maneuvers the car with ease. I know for certain I'd probably get into an accident every five minutes.

"You're a good driver," I say, interrupting the weird silence between us. "I can't believe you've only had your license for like, a year."

"Well that's good then, as I've had my license since I was thirteen."

"_What?_" I stare at him, my mouth agape. "_How?_"

He chuckles softly and rubs at his eye with the heel of his hand. "The Rakshana thought it'd be a good asset."

_The Rakshana._ "So you drove around with a fake license for five years?" I ask incredulously.

"No," he says, turning the radio down. "It was real."

"But how? The people at the DMV aren't _that_ stupid, are they?"

Kartik grins. "Of course they're not. They're Rakshana. Well, the guys in charge at least."

I shift my bag on my lap. "Tell me more about the Rakshana. They seem to be everywhere."

"We are." He slows to a stop in front of a red light and looks at me. "The Rakshana infiltrates nearly every business and organization. Even the President is Rakshana." Kartik grimaces. "But let's not talk about him."

I laugh lightly, and he catches my eye. In the bright morning light, his eyes seem to sparkle and glow like amber. They're beautiful, and I find myself blushing. I clear my throat quietly. "So they are…everywhere?"

"I guess you can say I have friends in high places," Kartik says, smiling.

"So you can get away with pretty much anything, can't you?" I ask.

His smile disappears. "Not everything."

The light turns green and he turns his attention back to driving. I flip down the visor and study my cheek in the mirror for the hundredth time this morning. The bruise is a faint purple blotch on my cheekbone, not gruesome, but totally noticeable.

"What are you going to tell people?" Kartik asks.

I hadn't thought of this. Though I tossed and turned all night (well as much as one can toss and turn on a couch), I only really thought about how I can face my father again, not how I'll face others.

"I don't know," I say softly, feeling a sinking sensation in my stomach. The sting of tears has me turning to the window, blinking desperately to keep them at bay.

"Horse related injury?" Kartik offers.

"Yeah…" I say slowly. "I can say Gatsby kneed me in the face while I was wrapping his legs."

Kartik snorts. "_Gatsby?_"

"Yes. What's wrong with that?" I ask defensively. Try as I might to act annoyed, I can't help but smile.

He shrugs. "Nothing, I guess."

"He's _beautiful_," I breathe dreamily. Kartik glances at me with an odd expression on his face. "What?" I ask, exasperated. I'm used to people not understanding the whole horse thing, but Kartik is being weird about it.

"The look on your face. You look so…genuinely happy."

"Huh?"

"I haven't seen you smile like that before."

"Oh," I say, blushing. "Well you'd smile like this too if you had a horse like Gatsby. He's kind of my life right now."

"Can I see you ride sometime?"

"Sure. When do you want to come watch?"

"How about Monday after school?"

"Okay," I say, a smile growing fast on my lips. A little bubble of excitement runs through me. _Oh, I'd like to show Kartik how to ride! _I mentally slap myself for that last thought. _Naughty Gemma, shame on you!_

"Why are you laughing?" Kartik asks suspiciously.

"I was thinking of a joke," I say weakly. _Oh I could kick myself!_

"Well let's hear it."

"It isn't very funny."

"I see."

Kartik pulls up and parks in front of my building. I undo my seatbelt but remain in my seat. "So…"

He meets my eyes. "So…"

"Thank you. For everything."

"It was nothing." His eyes widen. "Oh, before I forget…" He reaches into his pocket for something. "Here." He hands me a key.

"What's this for?" I ask, puzzled.

"Now before you go saying I'm presumptuous, hear me out."

"I'm listening." I turn the key over in my hands.

"It's a spare key to my apartment. If you ever need a place to stay…" he trails off sheepishly.

"Thank you," I say warmly. _If only he was giving me the key for another reason…_

"You're welcome."

"So…" We're back to this.

He traces the steering wheel with the tip of his finger. "Do you want to hang out later?" he asks quickly.

"Sure," I reply too quickly. "I'd like that."

He grins. "I'll pick you up at…?"

"Seven?"

"Seven it is."

"Cool," I say stupidly, fighting the urge to kick my feet around excitedly. "See you later then."

I nearly knock down the maid when I finally make it to my apartment. "Sorry, Marlena," I say breathlessly.

She smiles in her motherly way and smoothes back a gray streak in her black hair. "There's fresh fruit in the kitchen, Gemma. Oh, and your father's been looking for you."

"Thanks," I say, suddenly afraid. "Is Tom home?"

"He just left for the hospital. He switched shifts with someone."

"Okay." I wander off, not really wanting to face my father.

"Gemma?" My father's voice resounds from his study. I close my eyes and will my hear to stop pounding. _Relax. You weren't afraid of him twenty-four hours ago._

"Hi Daddy," I say softly, standing in the doorway. He sits at his desk, but there are no bottles to be seen anywhere. My father is thankfully sober.

"Gemma, pet, I'm so sorry." Tears trail down his unshaven cheeks. I hate seeing him this way. "Gemma…" He holds his arms out for me, and I find myself curling into his lap as if I was a three-year-old again. "It will never happen again," he says thickly, his voice distorted by tears.

And I stay that way for awhile, until I actually believe him.

* * *

"Gemma Doyle, you silly girl. Where _have _you been?" It is Felicity. After a morning and early afternoon of catching up on sleep, I finally roll over in bed to answer my phone, which has been ringing for awhile.

"It's a Saturday, Fee. I'm sleeping." I yawn and wrinkle my nose at my own morning breath. All thoughts of Friday morning hostility towards Felicity, Pippa, and Ann are gone. Now I just want friends again. Including Kartik. Who I am "seeing" tonight.

"Well get dressed. We're hanging out today."

"I have to be home by seven," I say.

"Jesus. Why? We're going to dress up and play poker and drink gin martinis all night!"

I can't tell if she's serious or not, but it hardly seems like much fun. "I think I'll pass, Fee."

"Gemma!" she whines. "We can't have a party without you!"

"I'm tired," I protest stubbornly.

"Just hang out for a bit. Please?"

"_Fine._"

"No need to get an attitude," Felicity quips.

"I'm not."

"Whatever. Just come over."

"I'm coming, I'm coming." I slip my phone shut and drag myself out of bed to brush my teeth again. I pay careful attention to covering up my bruise, even though I'm armed with an excuse.

When I trek up to Felicity's sprawling room, I realize that I'm terribly underdressed. Felicity and Pippa are wearing designer mini dresses, and even Ann has managed to squeeze into something sexy. I look down at my jeans and striped crew neck shirt with disdain.

"Oh Gemma," Felicity says sadly, shaking her head. "What is this? You look a mess."

Pippa laughs from across the room. She sits by the window, smoking a cigarette from one of those antique holders. A martini rests in her other hand.

"You _do _realize it's only four in the afternoon, right?" I ask.

"Starting the evening off the right way," Felicity says in a forced accent. I realize they're all trying to look like something out of the 1920s. "Let's get you into a nice frock, Gem."

"Frock?" Ann laughs oddly. I see she too is nursing a martini. Lovely. All my friends are drunk.

Pippa stumbles over to me and tries to tug my shirt off. "What are you doing?" I shriek. My shirt comes off before I can push her away.

"Woo, take it off, baby!" Felicity throws a forest green beaded dress at me. "Put this on."

"You're all pervs," I grumble, pulling the dress over my head. Despite the fact that I have much fuller hips than Felicity, the dress still fits. I kick my jeans off.

"Gemma, you're kind of hot," Pippa slurs.

"What's this?" Felicity asks, touching my bruise. I blanch, certain I had covered it up.

"It's nothing," I say quickly.

Her brows knit in worry. "Did somebody hurt you?" she whispers.

"My horse accidentally kneed me in the face while I was wrapping his legs," I lie. Her eyes linger on mine for a moment. They look sad and angry all at once.

She shrugs. "Have a drink." Felicity thrusts a martini into my hand. I exhale the breath I had been holding in.

"Cards anyone?" Ann calls from the card table set up in the corner. Ah well, I might as well humor them for an hour or two.

* * *

"Got any twos?" I ask later, over-accenting my syllables.

"Go fish!" Pippa yells.

I reach for the pile of cards but miss, knocking them everywhere. This strikes me as incredibly funny.

"Gemma, you are a very cur-coo-co-_ordinated_ person," Felicity slurs. Her red lipstick has smudged on her face, but none of us care.

"I have to pee," Ann says, standing up for the millionth time.

"_Again?_" The rest of us ask in unison. We look at each other and burst out laughing.

"You know," I say, holding up my glass. "Gin tastes like a Christmas tree."

"Have you tasted a Christmas tree lately?" Pippa giggles, her mascara running from tears of mirth.

"It tastes like the smell of a Christmas tree?" I look up at the ceiling and lean back in to my chair, dizzy. "I don't know?"

"Gemma, your phone keeps beeping," Ann says as she comes back from the bathroom, holding my purse out to me.

"Thanks," I say, pulling my phone out. The touch screen proves much to complicated for my drunken fingers. I finally manage to locate the source of the beeping. "Three missed calls," I announce.

"Ooh, from who?" Pippa asks.

Crap. It was Kartik. "What time is it?" I shriek.

"Ten thirty-seven," Ann says, peering at her much less complicated phone.

My heart sinks. Even with a head clouded by gin, I still acknowledge that I've done a bad thing. I completely forgot about hanging out with Kartik.

**Way to go Gemma. Way. To. Go! Geez.**

**So if you're wondering what's taken me so long to update... I am just recovering from a really nasty sickness. We're talking two ear infections and a week of missed classes. Plus there is the fact that I have the new Zelda game for DS and I've been playing that all week. But hopefully this chapter made up for the wait.**

**Is super psyched for Guitar Hero III,  
LunaEquus**

**(I totally just beat Freebird on Hard! Woo hoo!)**

**PLEASE REVIEW! Concrit is the best. By the way, I'm kinda unsure of author etiquette on replying to reviews. I generally reply to those that either ask a direct question or say something that tickles my fancy. I'm not sure if other authors reply to everyone, but I hope no one is offended if I don't reply to them. Know that I am truly grateful for your reviews by default, whether or not I reply. (Unless you review anonymously with a flame calling me a horrible person with talent wasted on me. I don't appreciate things like that LOL) And if by some chance you PM me and I don't get back to you, it's probably because I was really busy or distracted, so feel free to remind me after a few days if I don't get back to you. Thanks, Lovelies! **


	12. Chapter 12

**New chapter. Enjoy! **

I have reason to believe that karma is real, and that it is a bitch.

Yes, I did a bad thing. I accidentally stood Kartik up because I was too busy getting drunk and playing nonsensical card games. It was a mistake, and I feel really bad about it, but it already happened. Now I am paying the price in the form of an incredible hangover from the copious amounts of gin I consumed on an empty stomach.

What the hell is wrong with me? I'm sixteen years old and I have a hangover. I shouldn't even be drinking anything more than a few sips of champagne, and even then I should be grimacing at the taste and chasing it down with soda. I didn't even _want _to hang out with Felicity, Pippa, and Ann. I would have much rather spent my evening with Kartik, yet there I was, drunk in a stupid mini dress with a three of clubs stuck to my forehead. And now I can't stop throwing up, and my head hurts like mad.

Yeah, karma's a real bitch.

I tried calling Kartik this morning to apologize, but he wouldn't answer. My calls went right through to the generic, pre-recorded voicemail, so I couldn't even hear his voice. And I didn't leave a message, because I think my voice sounds weird over the phone.

I feel the urge to vomit, but it is not from the alcohol. I fear my new friendship with Kartik is already over.

And I didn't even get to see him play guitar.

What's even worse about being bedridden from a hangover is the incredible time I have to think. I do not just think of my guilt over Kartik. I dwell a lot on last night's drunkenness. That was the first time I've ever gotten truly drunk, not just tipsy at a cousin's wedding. I can't say much about what really happened, but I do know that the gin was enough to make me forget about Kartik, forget about my father's abuse, and forget about my mother's death.

That is what is most important. I forgot. I forgot about life and lived for the moment, and though now I'm paying for it, it was good while it lasted. I guess this is why my dad drinks, to forget. But he doesn't have friends to share it with. He cries and hits his daughter. How can people react so differently to the same thing?

It's already dark out. I've wasted a day. Now Monday, tomorrow, seems much closer. I'll have to face Kartik. Is he terribly mad at me? Maybe he'll understand, though I doubt it. He'll probably just use it as an excuse to make fun of my stereotype, and I'll fight with him again.

But I don't want to fight anymore.

I guess he won't be watching me ride my horse tomorrow.

* * *

Kartik isn't in English today. I don't see him until lunch, where he hurries into the courtyard, flushed and searching for someone. He looks distressed. I wonder briefly if it's my fault, but then I realize that he probably hates me right now.

His eyes land on me and he strides over to our table. Felicity nudges Pippa hard and jerks her head in his direction. They share an evil smirk.

"Gemma, can I talk to you for a minute?"

I open my mouth, but Felicity cuts me off. "What do _you _want with _her_?"

Kartik glares at her. "I wasn't aware she couldn't speak for herself," he says in a clipped voice.

She laughs harshly. "Well she's busy talking to us now, so she can't talk to you."

Kartik ignores her and looks at me. I can tell that he's trying to locate that small spark of connection we had Friday night. "Gemma, please?"

I am about to accept, but something in Felicity's expression makes me falter. If I go off with him, I'll never have a place at her table again. I'll probably be usurped by stupid Cecily. "I'm busy," I say in a voice that can't possibly be my own. "Sorry."

In the split second before I turn away, Kartik's eyes look stunned, hurt. Then his beautiful face takes on a murderous sneer. He laughs. "Don't be sorry. This is hardly _bruising _to _my_reputation," he says coldly, dangling my secret in front of us.

I gape at him, tears stinging at my eyes.

"You're such a jerk!" Pippa says. "Go away."

Kartik throws me one last glare before leaving.

"What was that about?" Ann asks. "You look so upset, Gemma."

"It's nothing," I say shakily. "I'm just angry."

Pippa winds a lock of hair around her finger. "I wonder what he wanted to talk to you about," she muses.

"Who cares?" I mutter, stabbing my salad with the fork. Felicity says nothing. She gazes at me for a moment, her gray eyes lingering on my bruise. I shiver involuntarily. I think she knows.

* * *

After school, I return home to drop off my books and gather up my riding gear. Laden with an armful of dirty boots and freshly washed polo wraps, I opt for a taxi instead of the subway to take me to my horse, who is boarded at Riverdale Equestrian Centre in the Bronx. It isn't until I see the rolling paddocks with grazing horses that I finally let go off today's drama.

"Hello, baby," I coo as I drop my saddle off against my tack trunk. Gatsby swings his big black head out over the stall door and sniffs at me. I offer him a carrot and rest my forehead against his neck as he eats it. I glance at the rest of him and groan. "Oh lovely, you rolled," I say aloud. "Wonderful."

I spend the greater part of the next half hour currying my horse vigorously, until his coat is a glossy black free of mud and dirt. I tack him up and put my brushes away.

"Gemma."

I spin around and nearly fall over once I see who it is. "What are you doing here?" I ask, flushing. I'm vaguely aware that I'm in my tan breeches and tall black boots. If this were a different circumstance, I'd probably be flirting with him, but now I just feel uncomfortable. And incredibly aware of panty lines.

Kartik smirks. "I was invited, wasn't I?"

"Yes, but that was before –,"

"Before you ditched me? I thought that would give _me _grounds for breaking this little play date, not you." He shrugs. "Unless your _friends_ are around. Then I guess I don't deserve your presence. I'd have to leave, wouldn't I?"

I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I'm not sure if he's forgiving me or just trying to make me feel worse. "Kartik, look, I'm really sorry about -,"

He holds up a hand. "Save it. I don't want to hear it."

"Then why are you here?" I ask, exasperated. I feel faint, like I might pass out. I take a seat on my tack trunk and mentally ask Gatsby to bite him.

"This is purely business now. The Rakshana has asked me to give you a message."

I look around to make sure no one is around to hear us. There is only a groom at the far end of the aisle, sweeping dirt and hair underneath someone's tack trunk. I'm not entirely sure he speaks English though. "What is it then?" I whisper.

Kartik runs a hand through his inky black curls. An unreadable expression crosses his face. "A girl was murdered in Massachusetts. She was one of the Order. Well, she would have been."

I feel my eyes grow wide. I clutch the edge of my trunk until the wood bites into my palms. "What does this have to do with me?"

"Witnesses reported a hooded figure in a black BMW, with black tinted windows, at the crime scene. I think you know what that means."

I gasp. _The black car that has been following me?_ "But what can I do? Stay inside for the rest of my life?"

Pity flashes in his chocolate eyes. "Just be careful. Don't walk around by yourself."

I look down at my knees as I digest this information. My head feels light again. I'm completely overwhelmed.

"There is one more thing," he says. His voice has developed a hard edge that makes my heart sink. "I have to look out for you. So too bad if your friends don't like me."

"_Excuse me?_" I stand up, shaky now from anger. "_Too bad?_ You don't _have _to look out for me. I'm fine by myself."

Kartik scoffs. "You are not. You're a statistic waiting to happen."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I cry out, startling Gatsby. The groom looks up at us, so I lower my voice. "Listen to me, Kartik. I don't care if you're Rakshana or not. Thanking for helping me on Friday, but I don't need you around. My father's a lawyer. I can slap you with a restraining order!"

To my surprise, he laughs. "I have friends in high places, remember? You will do no such thing." He smirks at my thunderstruck face. "I'm looking forward to seeing more of you and your friends…especially Pippa. She's kind of hot, isn't she?"

The stings of tears blurs my vision. I can't remember feeling hurt like this from a boy. It isn't just the sense of rejection, it's that I know he's only saying it to anger me. "I thought you said you were too old for crushes," I say through clenched teeth.

Kartik winks at me and offers an icy smile. "Yes, but one's never too old for games." He gives me one last appraising look in my boots and breeches, then walks away.

"You should have kicked him," I hiss at Gatsby as I bridle him. "Let's go." I buckle my helmet and lead all seventeen hands of my horse to the outdoor ring where my trainer waits for me. To my irritation and unexplainable delight, Kartik stands at the fence, resting his forearms on the top rail.

"Don't fall off," he says as I trot by, warming up.

"Bite me," I grumble.

My trainer offers some equitation tips as I go through my paces, none of which I actually pay any attention to. My head buzzes with anger, and I try my best to get Gatsby to kick up dirt every time I pass Kartik on the rail. Gatsby finally gets fed up with my jerky signals and throws a huge buck right in front of Kartik.

He bursts out laughing as I quickly rein my horse in. "Gemma, you seem awfully distracted today," my trainer calls out from the judge's box. "Get it together or you won't be going over any fences."

I slow my horse to a walk and try to center myself. Things aren't so bad if you just let them go when you ride. Kartik who? All I need to know is the animal beneath me. After a few deep breaths, something strange happens. The scent of roses, heavy and fragrant, drifts across the air. I become utterly relaxed, as if I have been soaking in a hot bath. Gatsby's gait is smooth and rocking, so comfortable I could practically fall asleep…

Suddenly, my chest seizes up. _I can't breath! What is happening?_Gatsby senses that something is wrong, but it scares him. He rears up violently, but I cannot act in time to correct it. _I can't move! _I'm falling backwards. Gatsby is falling as well._He's going to fall on me! _His black neck against the blue sky is the last thing I see.

**Ah! Riding accident! This is why rearing is bad. Yes, Gemma was about to have a vision, but horses are very in tune with the supernatural (or so they say) and Gatsby freaked out. By the way, seventeen hands is the horse's height. Gemma has a pretty tall horse.**

**No, Kartik does not like Pippa. He said it to piss Gemma off, and it worked. Kartik's being a jerk, but he's really hurt by what Gemma did. Oh well. They'll redeem themselves next chapter.**

**Identifies with Gemma the more she writes,  
LunaEquus**

**Oh yeah, don't worry that the girls haven't had much of a chance to shine yet. You will get to know them (hopefully) in all their complex glory. I just have to get Karma drama out of the way.**

**PLEASE REVIEW! I shan't update until I get at least 15! **


	13. Chapter 13

**Happy Halloween! Enjoy! (You definitely will!)**

When I come to I am not in the sand of the riding arena, nor am I in a hospital room. I am lying in a beautiful garden, cushioned by grass of the brightest green. The sky is not blue like how it was earlier today. Instead, it is drenched with the rich hues of a glorious sunset, all purples, pinks, and oranges. It is all so beautiful, and I do not feel any pain.

_Am I dead?_

I catch the scent of Chanel perfume in the slight breeze, something I haven't smelled since my birthday.

"Mom?" I cry out, stumbling to my feet. I realize with alarm that I am no longer in my riding boots and breeches, but instead a gauzy white sundress and no shoes. The scent of perfume grows stronger as I run as fast as my legs will take me. I push past a strange stone arch and nearly faint with shock at the sight I see.

My mother sits next to a burbling spring, humming to herself and stroking the fur of what looks to be our long-dead golden retriever.

"Mom?" I ask shakily.

She looks up with a peaceful expression on her face. "Gemma, I'm so glad you finally made it."

"Is it really you?"

"It really is me."

"Oh, Mom!" I throw myself into her arms and cry. "I missed you so much!"

"Shh," she murmurs, stroking my hair. "It's alright. I'm here now."

I sniff loudly. "But how?" I croak. She smiles placidly in response. I finally put two and two together. I was riding. Gatsby reared. He must have fallen on me. I must be… "Am I dead? Is this heaven?" For some reason, I feel incredibly sad. I don't want to die yet!

"No, no, darling. You aren't dead."

"But then where am I? If I'm not dead…are you a ghost?"

My mother smiles bemusedly. "Do you think I'm a ghost?"

Tears prick my eyes. "No."

She picks a wildflower and weaves it in my hair. "Then I'm not a ghost."

I bury my hands into my old dog's fur. "Is Bailey a ghost?" He pushes his wet nose into my hands, begging to be scratched under his chin.

"No."

"Then what -,"

"Gemma, let me explain. This is a place of dreams, a magical realm guarded by the Order." She touches my amulet. "This is the mark of the Order. When you turned sixteen…"

"I know. When I turned sixteen it was time for me to come into my power. I am a priestess now." I roll my eyes at the ludicrousness of it all.

My mother smiles fondly. "I see you've met Kartik."

"You know him?" I vaguely remember Kartik claiming to have known my mom for a long time.

"I have known him since he was a sticky-faced child. When his parents died..."

"His parents died?" I interrupt.

My mother grimaces. "Yes. He was only six when it happened." She stares straight ahead. "It was a car accident," she says firmly in a way that suggests that it wasn't.

A moment later, she is smiling again, albeit a bit sadly. "You're so beautiful, Gemma. You look so mature now."

"Thank you," I mumble, embarrassed. "Mom? Are you sure I'm not dead? I had a bad fall off Gatsby before I got here."

"You aren't dead," she assures me. "Gatsby? Is that what you decided to name your horse?"

"Yeah," I say distractedly. "Mom, it was so weird before I fell. My body seized up and I couldn't move, and then Gatsby freaked out and reared."

My mother busies herself by braiding my hair. "Well, animals are naturally more sensitive to the supernatural."

A chill tickles its way through my spine. "What does that mean?"

"You were about to have a vision."

"A vision? Of what?"

She ceases braiding my hair. "I don't know," she says, frowning. "What other things have happened to you?"

"I can make things move with my mind." My mother is silent. I begin to feel uneasy. "Is there…something wrong with me?"

"No!" She quickly seeks to reassure me. "It's just that…your powers seem stronger than they should be at your age. But it isn't something to fear, honey."

"Well it freaks me out."

"Have you told anyone about it?"

"Only Kartik," I say, suddenly upset for a whole different reason. What if I'm trapped here? What if I never see him again?

My mother nods to herself. "Be careful who you tell, Gemma. I advise you to keep it between yourself and your guardian. Don't tell anyone else."

I think of my friends and how much we wanted to pretend we all were witches of the Order. I hadn't wanted to tell them before, but I've been thinking lately that I might want to some day. "But what if I want to tell others?"

Her face darkens a bit. "Who do you want to tell?"

"Just my friends. Maybe," I say defensively.

She fixes me with her most stern look. "You must make sure you can trust them, Gemma."

"I know, Mom!"

"Don't use that tone with me, young lady."

I sigh, frustrated. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm just overwhelmed." I lean into my mother and inhale her scent. It brings a fresh wave of tears. "I'm so glad I get to see you again," I cry.

"I know, baby, I know." She smoothes the hair back from my forehead and kisses me. "But it's time for you to go back now."

"W-what? I don't want to leave you yet!"

She frowns sympathetically. "I know, but you have to go. I'll still be here whenever you return."

"But how can I come back?"

"You will find your way back when the time is right."

"But…"

"Good bye, Gemma."

My vision starts to grow fuzzy around the edges, and my ears ring as if I'm about to faint. "Mom!" I cry. "I don't want to go!"

The last thing I see is my old dog gazing at me curiously. Then he closes his eyes and rests his head on his paws.

* * *

Silence gives way to a steady beeping. Without opening my eyes, I know that I'm in a hospital room. I groan from the thudding pain in my head and open my eyes. At first, I'm afraid I've gone blind, but I quickly realize that the room is just very dark. The LED displays on various instruments glow bright enough for me to make out my surroundings. I can see the outline of the TV mounted on the wall, the windows shut tightly against the unclean air outside, and a side table. I try to turn my head to see the other side of the room. 

"You're awake," a voice whispers, startling me. The beeping grows frantic as my heartbeat quickens.

I turn my head to the other side and squint at the human shape in the darkness. "Kartik?" I say, my voice scratchy.

"Yeah."

"What are you doing here?"

"I came with you in the ambulance," he says sheepishly. "It was really bad, Gemma. I thought you were…" _Dead._ It goes unsaid, but it still scares me.

"What happened?" I whisper hoarsely.

"Your horse reared and fell on you. He was fine, but you weren't moving." Kartik's voice sounds shaky. "The doctors said you were fine aside from some bruising, but you've been in a coma for two days."

"Two days?" My stomach drops. _Two days?_ "Does my family know?"

My eyes have since adjusted to the dim light. I can see Kartik's face better now, but I almost rather I couldn't. He looks tired and upset, almost as if he has been up for days…

"Your brother has been coming in every chance he gets," Kartik says. He bites his lip in such a way that I feel a sense of dread.

"What about my dad?" I whisper, already knowing the answer. Tears slip out of the corners of my eyes.

"He hasn't come," he says softly.

"But how do you know?" I say tearfully.

Kartik locks eyes with me. "I've been here the whole time."

"You have?" I ask, feeling my heart lighten a bit. "The whole time?"

"Pretty much."

"But why?"

Kartik fiddles with the plastic wrapping of a sterile drinking cup. "Because it was my fault that you fell," he says sadly.

"Huh?" All I can think of was what my mother said about having a vision. Kartik has nothing to do with it. _My mother…_Suddenly my attention is torn, so I try to focus on Kartik, who is speaking very fast.

"I shouldn't have made you so mad," he says.

"Kartik, I-,"

"You were distracted, and I should have left you alone."

"Kartik, it's-,"

"You could have been seriously hurt."

"Kartik, would you-,"

"It's all my fault!"

"Kartik!" I cry. "It's okay!"

His eyes widen. "I'm really sorry, Gemma," he whispers.

"So am I. I shouldn't have been such a bitch to you."

Kartik smiles. "Truce?"

I return his smile. "Truce."

He sighs. "Good." He looks back at the door. "I guess I should get the doctor…"

"Yeah, I guess."

He runs a hand through his hair and bites his lip again. I watch curiously as he wipes his palms on his knees and stands up. _Is he nervous?_

"Gemma, just one more thing…"

"Hm?"

It's like the world slows down as he leans over me and places his lips against mine. There may be no cinematic music or overactive tongues involved, but it is better than any first kiss I've ever seen in a movie. It only lasts a few moments, but even that is enough to put me into sensory overload. The warmth of his lips, the scent of his skin, the tickle of his hair on my face, and most importantly – the shy, unsure look he gives me when he pulls away.

I know my eyes must be bugging out by now, and no doubt that isn't a good sign to him.

He clears his throat. "I'm glad you're alright," he says, reaching for the door.

"Kartik?" He turns around. "I thought you said you didn't take kissing lightly."

Even from this distance I swear I can see him smile. "I don't," he says, leaving me to squirm with happiness in silence. My fingertips drift to my mouth, as if they want to try and keep the feel of him there. A broad smile grows on my now-blessed lips.

_He kissed me! He likes me! _

An unhappy thought forms, breaking through my giddiness. What if he only kissed me because he truly thought it was his fault that I fell? I didn't even tell him about the realms, or about seeing my mother. I'll have to tell him.

I finger a lock of my hair in thought. Maybe it was just a dream? But it was so real… Maybe people in comas have very elaborate dreams. But…

My fingers hit something irregular in my hair. A braid.

It definitely wasn't a dream.

**Aww he kissed her! Finally!**

**Bailey is my golden retriever that died last Easter. He was the best.**

**Yay for realms sightings!**

**Isn't dressing up for Halloween (sad!),  
LunaEquus**

**If you have Facebook, join my new group - The New Order. You can be a character from the books! (That is that lamest thing I could say.) Ah well, it's a fun group!**

**PLEASE REVIEW! Concrit makes Kartik walk around his apartment in boxers. **


	14. Chapter 14

Thanks for all the reviews so far! Enjoy!

I am absolutely insane. When I fell off Gatsby I must have damaged the part of my brain that made me somewhat normal, because what I'm about to do is definitely _not _normal.

It is my first day out of the hospital, the first day since the fall that I am allowed to do most of the things I've done before. I can't ride or go to gym class for awhile, but at least I'm allowed out of the house. Despite how bad of a fall it was, I hadn't broken any bones, though I do favor my left arm and feel dizzy from time to time. I was really lucky.

And I have someone to thank for it. Though he didn't technically save my life or anything, Kartik was there when my own father wasn't. He deserves a medal for sleeping curled up in those blocky hospital chairs, but as I don't have any medals to give out, homemade breakfast will have to do.

Like I said, I've gone insane. If not for the fact that I'm actually attempting to make breakfast, then at least for the fact that I've taken the bus across the city, stopped at Williams-Sonoma, and am now practically breaking into his apartment with the key he gave me. And it's not even ten in the morning. If I happen to shave my head and run away to live with Buddhist monks, I personally won't be surprised. Insane.

Kartik's apartment is quiet when I unlock the door. Even though he extended the invitation to me, I still feel as if I'm trespassing in a forbidden zone. I quietly steal into the kitchen to preheat the oven, feeling incredibly stupid. It is so quiet, I fear he might not even be home. I have no clue about his sleeping schedule, but as it's Saturday before noon, he should probably still be sleeping.

I tiptoe on the wooden floor of the hallway where I know his room is. The door is slightly open. Holding my breath, I peek inside. I fight a smile as I quickly take in the sight of Kartik sleeping soundly in a tangle of twisted sheets. It was worth it to wake up early and come all this way just to see him like that. I pause for one moment, and then I'm grinning stupidly, hurrying silently back into the kitchen.

While I wait for the oven to heat up, a manila envelope on the counter catches my attention. It had been addressed to Kartik and hastily torn open. Boredom and curiosity get the best of me. I pull out the contents, a letter and a few photographs.

Skimming over the letter, I realize that it is from the Rakshana, bearing the same message Kartik gave to me last Friday. One particular paragraph makes my blood run cold.

_The victim (Ashley Whitecombe, 16, of Peabody, MA) was an Order initiate that had failed the Door of Light test two days prior to the murder. Speculation points to her failure as a potential motive for the crime. She is the fourth in a series of similar murders. The culprit is believed to be the same as before. In any case, all signs point that the next victim will be Gemma Doyle, 16, of New York City, NY._

My hands shake as I flip through the photographs. A hooded figure. The black car, speeding away. A crumpled figure in the road. The crumpled figure up close. I blanch as I take in the sight of the dead girl, eyes open, lips parted in horror. My eyes tear up as I see her clothes and recognize them as something I might wear. _She was my age and now she's dead._

_And I might be next. _

Feeling nauseous, I put the contents back in the envelope. My head swims as I arrange the frozen chocolate croissants on a baking pan and place them in the oven. Who would murder that girl? Why? Because she failed some test? Why would I be next?

A sudden presence in the doorway makes me jump. "What are you doing here?" Kartik asks, yawning. He runs a hand through his messy hair and looks at me sleepily.

"Uhh…" I'm struck dumb by the sight of him in only a tee shirt and boxer shorts. His bare legs are long and toned, just like the rest of him. I grab the empty box of Williams-Sonoma's famous croissants. "I'm making breakfast."

"Oh," he says, stretching. For a blissful moment I can see a slice of his taut stomach as his shirt rides up. My cheeks grow hot. He takes a step into the kitchen and stops. "Why?"

Out of embarrassment, I look at his feet. Such sexy feet they are, which is surprising, because I hate other people's feet. "To thank you," I say. "For all you've done."

Kartik grins. "I'm going to brush my teeth," he announces. It takes all my self control not to look at his butt as he exits the room. Since when have I become so horny? I must have hit my head_ really _hard when I fell.

I rummage pointlessly through the Williams-Sonoma bag. Kartik isn't mad at me. He isn't even suspicious. I can just pretend that nothing weird ever happened to me when I was in a coma. I can pretend that it _was_ his fault, and accept his kiss. We can date and it can be uncomplicated and fun.

"What's in the oven?" Kartik asks, looking over my shoulder at the bag in my hands. His breath smells sweetly of toothpaste, and my eyelids flutter involuntarily. _Oh just kiss me again!_

"Chocolate croissants," I say matter-of-factly. I turn around so that our chests are close. He has brushed his hair, but thankfully hasn't changed out of his minimal clothing. Though perhaps that isn't such a good thing; I'm sure I could think far more clearly if I wasn't so tempted to stare at his crotch.

And that is exactly where I'm staring now. _BAD Gemma!_

"Smells good," Kartik says cheerfully. What's made him all happy? I'm a wreck!

"They better be good. They were forty dollars."

Kartik's eyes widen and he grins. "You must have expensive_ taste._"

I groan. "Bad pun, Kartik."

"Clever though, admit it."

The oven timer goes off. "Sit," I instruct, going to prepare the rest of his (and my) breakfast. "It's not exactly homemade, but you'd prefer it that way, trust me."

Kartik stretches his bare, athletic legs under the table. Either I'm blushing again, or the oven is way too hot. I can feel him watching me as I grab plates, pour juice, and set down the deliciously fragrant pastries on the kitchen table.

"So this is what having a mother is like," he comments breezily.

I pretend to be offended. "Don't be silly. I'm way too young to be your mother."

Kartik catches my eyes and holds me in a smoldering gaze. "So what does that make you then?"

My heart pounds so hard I swear he can hear it. _Is he implying that I'm his girlfriend?_ "It makes me your best friend," I say delicately.

He looks down in an almost coy fashion. "Ah," he says. "I'm glad." He smiles.

"Me too." I twirl a lock of hair around my finger idly.

"These are good," Kartik mumbles through a mouthful of croissant. He swallows and drinks some orange juice. "Thanks for bringing them."

"Thank you for staying with me in the hospital," I respond.

He shrugs. "It was least I could do after what I did to you," he says with a sweet smile.

I frown. _We could be normal. Just let it go, Gem._ I catch sight of the manila envelope and push my plate away, feeling ill. "Kartik, I have something to tell you."

"Oh?" he asks, polishing off a third croissant. "What is it?"

I place my elbows on the table despite all of the times my mother has told me not to, because it is rude. _My mother…_ "Something happened when I fell off my horse. It wasn't you. I wasn't distracted."

Kartik sits up straight in his chair. A sudden chill near my ankle makes me realize how close his bare legs must have been to mine. The absence of such warmth isn't exactly reassuring. He says nothing, so I open my mouth to speak.

"My body seized up; I couldn't move. Gatsby sensed that something was wrong and he reared, but I couldn't move to do anything. I woke up in another place, Kartik. I saw my mother."

He is silent, his lips parted slightly in shock.

"She told me that we were in a magical realm of dreams. My old dog was there. She said they weren't ghosts."

Kartik furrows his brows in concentration. "Are you sure you weren't dreaming?"

I nod. "My mom was braiding my hair. When I woke up in the hospital, there was a braid in my hair. You didn't put it there, did you?"

Kartik shakes his head. "Of course not." He bites his lip. "But what happened that made your body seize up?"

"My mother said that I was about to have a vision, when Gatsby sensed it and flipped out."

"Oh," Kartik says softly, looking past me out the kitchen window. "I see now."

I study his face. "So you know about it then?"

"Yes. Many of the Order have visions."

"Is that a good or bad thing?"

"I'm not sure," he says. "Let me get back to you on that." He crumples a napkin in his hand and stands up. I follow his lead, bringing our dishes to the sink. "No you don't," he says as I start to wash the dishes. "Leave them. I'll do it later."

"Okay," I say stupidly. _Don't stare at his crotch._

Too late.

"Let's go see what's on TV."

I follow him like a dog follows its owner. God, he smells good.

We sit on the couch; well, I sit. He throws himself across the cushions. "Gemma," he says, arranging himself into a comfortable position. "Have you told your friends about what's happened to you? The visions and the dreams and the psychokinesis?"

I shake my head. "No." No need to tell him that they know about the Order and think he's insane because of it.

A small, but visible, wave of relief washes over his face. "Good. Don't."

"Why not?"

He gives me a smile. "Because then you'll end up like me. An outcast. And I don't think that will suit you very well."

"But what about you? Don't you mind?"

"Mind?"

"Yeah," I say, leaning into the couch cushions so that I'm a bit closer to him. "You don't care that you don't have friends at school?"

Kartik scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Gemma, the only reason I even go to school is because of you. I'm there to keep an eye on you and make sure nothing happens to you. It's my job. Friends don't factor into it. They just get in the way."

"So I get in the way?" I ask softly.

"Of course not. I like being with you."

We can be normal...

"My friends don't like you," I blurt out. Is it possible to file for divorce from one's own mouth? Because mine is rude and stupid and not at all desirable.

Kartik laughs. "I don't like your friends." He notices the sullen look on my face and sits up. Our shoulders are touching and it feels good to be so close to him. "I understand, you know."

"You do?" I am surprised.

"They don't need to know we're friends. In fact…" He bites his lip and smiles. "It might be easier that way."

I'm so relieved that I don't question him. "Good," I say, laughing. My breath catches as I abruptly stop. My heart flutters like a trapped bird. I don't know how it happens, but suddenly, I am turning my face to his and kissing him.

His lips feel so wonderfully strange to me, foreign and familiar at the same time. The scent of him, all dark and mysterious and deliciously male, fills me up until I can float away on the high of this kiss. Kartik parts his lips and tilts my face up with the slight pressure of his finger under my chin. His tongue presses uncertainly against the seam of my lips. The unexpected wetness makes me loose my nerve. I break away with flushed cheeks and wild eyes.

I can't look at him. He clears his throat and rests his elbows on his knees. I steal a glance. He grins sheepishly at me. _He's so cute!_

"What's on TV?" I ask, my voice about an octave too high.

"As it's Saturday," he says, flipping to the TV Guide channel. "Probably some makeover shows and bad movies from the nineties."

"Probably," I agree.

"Yes, I was right. _Air Bud_ is on."

The mention of the movie starring a golden retriever makes me think of my own dog in the realms. A pit of unease grows in my stomach. My mother said I'd return when the time is right, but when can that be? Why is she still there? Is there no such thing as heaven? As God? Why must everything I've ever known be proven wrong all of a sudden?

Kartik brushes his hand against my arm. "Are you okay?"

I look up into his warm brown eyes, searching for the answers I know he has. "Why is this all happening to _me_?" I whisper.

His eyes soften. "Someone up there has plans for you. You may not understand now, but in time, you'll know."

"I'm glad I have you as a guardian, Kartik," I say. "And not some jerk that doesn't care."

"And I'm glad I have you as a priestess instead of some brat that doesn't listen to anything I say."

I laugh weakly. "Well then, we must be made for each other," I joke, realizing after I say it that it sounds way too…pushy.

Kartik winks at me playfully. "Maybe we are."

I can kiss him again. Or, I can wait for him to kiss me. In a matter of seconds, we can be making out. We can.

"Oh! Dr. 90210 is on!" I grab the remote controller and change the channel, ruining any future kissing possibilities. There is nothing less romantic than nose jobs and breast implants, and for some reason I'm relieved by it.

They're so cute and awkward together! Gah!

I'm gonna pimp my new oneshot The Boathouse. Please read and review it if you haven't already! And check out the new topic I posted in the Beauties and Rebels forum.

Kartik's 130th birthday is coming up! November 10th. I made a Facebook event for it!

Lalalalala,  
LunaEquus

PLEASE REVIEW!!! Teacher says that every time you give a nice long review, a Kartik gets his wings. And by wings I mean an incredibly large... intellect. Heh.


	15. Chapter 15

Well I didn't get many reviews for last chapter...but I know you guys were reading! Review more please, lovelies! Enjoy!

"How you doing, Seabiscuit?"

I turn to Felicity as we walk down the hall after school. "Did he just call me _Seabiscuit_?" I ask, ignoring the freshman boy who had asked me.

She snorts. "Duh."

"But why?"

"Gemma, how dense are you? You've been out of school because you fell off a horse."

"Yes, and?"

Felicity rolls her eyes as if this is the most obvious thing in the world. "Seabiscuit was a _horse_."

I cross my arms. "And that makes sense to you?"

"Obviously."

"Whatever," I say, leaning against the iron rail once we make it outside. "Where are Pip and Ann?"

Felicity makes a show of being cold by wrapping her arms tightly around her middle and shivering. "They're coming," she huffs. "At least, they better be."

We are going over to Pippa's house today, because her parents are hosting a dinner party, and we have all been invited. I'm excited, because I know that there will be famous people there. How cool is that? To eat dinner with celebrities?

"So," I say, jamming my hands into my coat pockets. The weather has already turned bitter, though it is only the beginning of November. "I hope there's good food tonight."

"Why wouldn't there be?" Felicity is bored. She looks down at the passersby disdainfully.

"Pippa ate like a pig at lunch. She acted like she'd never eat again."

Felicity glares at me. "What are you implying?" she asks coldly, her gray eyes boring into me, freezing me even more than the brisk wind.

I'm taken aback. "I wasn't implying anything! I'm just surprised she manages to stay that thin. I know that if _I _ate like that -,"

"You don't know anything, Gemma," Felicity snaps. "Don't act like you do."

I frown at her. What have I done? I fall silent to prevent myself from saying anything else that might anger her. Honestly, she's like a ticking time bomb.

I rest my head against the brick wall and let my eyes wander over the students emerging from the school. As if focusing a camera, my vision zooms in on Kartik, standing only a few paces away, leaning against the building just like I am. He gives me a small smile, which I promptly return.

"Who are you looking at?" Felicity demands.

"Uh…" Just then, Ann walks out of the front door and wanders over to us, saving me from Felicity's suspicion. Because of this, I can't resist hugging her, glancing at Kartik over her shoulder. He raises his eyebrows in amusement and holds up his cell phone before leaving. Moments later, my pocket vibrates.

"So where's Pippa?" Ann asks, once I release her. Felicity's face darkens and she stomps inside the building without a word. Ann and I share a look of confusion, then sit on the steps to wait.

I pull out my phone to read the text message Kartik sent me.

_If you're free tonight, I could use an audience._

My cheeks burn despite the cold. So I've earned the privilege of watching him play guitar, have I? I press Reply, ready to accept his invitation, but then I remember Pippa's party.

_sorry…i have plans…_

I keep my phone out in case he responds again, but he doesn't. I can feel the corners of my lips tugging downwards.

"What's the matter?" Ann asks, startling me. I had forgotten she was there.

"Nothing," I say guiltily. It's weird having to keep a friendship a secret. I can't imagine how having an affair must feel. "Excited for tonight?"

Ann shrugs. "I guess."

The front door creaks open and Felicity emerges with a sniffling Pippa in tow. Her normally perfect dark hair is in disarray, and her eyeliner is smudged. "I called a town car," Felicity says with authority. Pippa sniffs again, loudly.

"Pip?" I ask softly. She looks miserable.

"I'm fine," she whispers. Her breath smells of toothpaste. My eyes widen in confusion, but I say no more as we pile into the black town car.

* * *

"Pippa, you're late!" A tall, sharp-faced woman strides into view, followed closely by a snow-white teacup poodle. 

"Sorry, Mom," Pippa says softly, obviously embarrassed. "This is Ann and Gemma," she says as introduction.

Her mother freezes at the sight of us. "Pippa," she says through clenched teeth. "Why have you brought friends over? You know you have appointments before the party. If you don't look absolutely_perfect_, then -,"

"Mom, they'll just hang out in my room!" Pippa's pale face is scarlet.

Her mother looks like she's going to argue, but her Blackberry rings. "Isabel Cross," she snaps, walking away. The dog whimpers and trots after her.

"Bitch," Pippa hisses under her breath.

I'm in shock. That was Pippa's _mother_? Felicity catches sight of my expression and laughs.

"That's her on a good day, Gemma. Pippa's mom is a beast."

"It's true," Pippa agrees, nodding emphatically. "Once I turn eighteen, I'm taking my trust fund and moving in with Fee."

"Wow," I breathe. I catch Ann's eye and she gives me a small smile. No doubt she loves seeing people in worse situations than her.

Once in the confines of Pippa's room, she clutches her head and collapses dramatically on her bed. "I _hate _my life," she moans. "My parents are so…"

"Fiendish?" I offer.

"Satanic," she says. "Honestly. They only care about themselves."

"I'm sure they just want you to make a good impression tonight, Pippa," Ann says.

Felicity snorts and Pippa laughs bitterly. "They want _me _to be in the spotlight so that _they _can steal it from me. I'm nothing more than a means for fame."

"Don't say that, Pip," I say quietly.

She stands on her bed. "It's true. Pippa, go to this go-see. Pippa, you can't go to the party, you have an audition to prepare for. Pippa, don't pick at your fingernails, don't wear your hair like that. Pippa, stop eating; no one likes a size four." She clutches her stomach. "I'm so _hungry_!"

"Then eat something," Ann says.

"Are you kidding? I may gain a quarter of an inch around my waist, Ann. No one will hire me then!" Pippa says viciously. It's the only real outburst I've ever seen from her. She's usually just a giggly twit of a girl. Something nags me in the back of my mind. Eating so much at lunch, crying after school, hungry now…

"Pip, I think you should eat something," I say. Pippa stares at me as if I am a monster. "What? You need to…"

"Shut up, Gemma," Felicity barks suddenly. "Pip's fine."

Pippa sits down gingerly. "Yeah…" she whispers. "I'm fine."

All of a sudden, the room feels really closed in. I want nothing more than to be in the freedom of my own room, with the future of hanging out at Kartik's place tonight, instead of being at this stupid party with a bunch of shallow people. But I've made a commitment, and if I back out now, I can kiss my friendship with them goodbye. Though, judging by the look on Felicity's face, it might have already ended.

* * *

For much of the party, I am too nervous to show my face. I am not alone in my solitude, however, because Ann stays glued to my side wherever I go. We watch from the sidelines as Pippa and Felicity drink up the spotlight forced on them; they seem relaxed and happy, completely different from earlier this afternoon. I wonder what side of them is the façade, for I cannot tell. 

"Care to dance?"

"Hm?" I am snapped out of my bored reverie as someone sidles up and addresses me. He is an attractive guy that looks about nineteen, my brother's age.

His blue eyes twinkle at my oblivion. "I asked if you'd like to dance with me."

"Oh!" I exclaim, blushing. I cast a sideways glance at Ann, who is staring straight ahead, pretending like she doesn't notice that she remains invisible, while I do not. "Um…"

He grins. "Or maybe I'll get you a drink and tell you my name and_then _we can dance."

His charm is infectious. "Sure," I say, laughing nervously.

"I'll be right back then." He winks and walks off.

I raise my eyebrows at Ann excitedly. "He's cute," I whisper.

"Yeah," she agrees half-heartedly. Her gloomy attitude annoys me.

I sigh and flick my hair, smoothing it back with a hand to make sure it hasn't decided to attempt world domination, as it sometimes does.

I gasp as someone sneaks up behind me and whispers in my ear. "I'm Simon." His breath on my skin makes me shiver with delight.

"I'm Gemma," I say, turning around.

"So I've heard," Simon says, handing me a glass of swirly orange and pink liquid. "Felicity told me all about you."

This is a surprise to me, especially as I've never heard of Simon before. "Oh? Only good things, I hope." I smile secretively. Oh God, I'm flirting. "What is this, by the way?" I take a sip from the martini glass and pucker my lips at the sour taste that somehow tastes like citrus and Pledge at the same time.

"It's a Cosmopolitan," Simon explains. "A girly drink."

"I see," I say, worried that I might get in trouble for drinking alcohol with adults around. Out of the corner of my eye, Felicity and Pippa knock down a shot each. Apparently no one cares about underage drinkers in New York City.

Simon leads me to a few seats in the corner near a window overlooking the city. I sip at my Cosmopolitan as I listen to him tell me about his life. He is a college student, I learn, attending Yale University as a pre-law student. When I tell him that my father is a lawyer that graduated from Yale, he seems genuinely interested. I wonder how Simon would react if I told him that my father is also an alcoholic.

"So what are you into?" Simon asks.

My eyelids flutter as I drain my Cosmo. My head already feels warm and light. "I ride horses," I say. As expected, the same grin crosses his face as most other guys' when they hear that I ride.

"Do you?" he asks flirtatiously. "With a whip and everything?" I can tell that he is clearly turned on by this knowledge. It somehow empowers me, to know that he finds me desirable.

"Whips and spurs," I say innocently. "And leather boots as well." My lips spread into a wide, tipsy grin.

I don't know when he moved his chair closer to me, but I realize that his arm is around my waist. "Gemma, you fascinate me," he whispers. A few strands of his shiny chestnut hair falls into his bright eyes. "Would you mind if I kissed you?"

How polite of him to ask. I don't know if it's the Cosmo or that maybe I genuinely like him, but I find myself initiating the kiss with Simon. But as soon as my lips press upon his and I catch the faraway taste of beer, I pull away with disgust at myself.

Simon raises his eyebrows in happy surprise and I blush guiltily. "You know," he says. "Felicity was wrong about you."

A boulder falls heavily in my stomach. "Oh?"

He grins devilishly. "You're much better than I thought."

"Oh," I breath, laughing nervously. I'm not sure if that's something to be proud of. He looks at me in such a way that I fear he might kiss me again. Not that I'd mind, really.

Just then, Pippa and Felicity stumble up to us and grab my hand. "What?" I ask irritably. I want to continue talking to Simon.

"Time for the after party," Pippa whispers in my ear, gripping my waist tightly.

"Can I join you?" Simon asks hopefully.

"No," Felicity says, glaring at him. "You can't."

"Well then," Simon says, taking my hand in his. "Can I see you again, Gemma?"

My friends erupt into giggles. "Maybe," I say, taking my hand from him. He grins widely as I cast one final look to him.

We find Ann and stumble up to Pippa's room, where a few stolen bottles of Ketel One and Grand Patron await us.

"Here's to crap parents and being hot," Pippa slurs, drinking straight from the vodka bottle. I find myself gravitating to the Grand Patron Platinum.

"Here's to kissing strangers," I giggle, sipping a mouthful of tequila from the crystal bottle. It doesn't burn as I thought it would.

We go around making up toasts and taking shots until we're thoroughly trashed. I lie on my back on the floor, holding my fingers up and wiggling them until I'm giggling uncontrollably. The feel of Simon's lips lingers on mine, until the point where I feel like I could still be kissing him. Or if I hadn't come to this party, I could be kissing someone else...

"Mmm," I mumble, running my fingers over my lips. "Kart…" My eyes widen as I stop myself. _I can't say his name aloud! They can't know! _

I sit up and crawl over to my friends. My amulet bangs against my breastbone and makes me ever aware of my own cleavage. I suddenly picture myself stripping off my dress, but not in front of my friends. Instead I picture two sets of eyes watching me – soulful brown and bright blue. Somewhere in my conscious, I know I will feel guilty later about kissing Simon. But right now, I'm content to have kissed two hot guys that both seem to want me.

This knowledge makes me roll up against Felicity, whom I desperately want to tell my secret to. She has long since passed out, as have Pippa and Ann. They lay tangled together innocently, like sleeping puppies.

I close my eyes, just like my friends have, and feel myself slip away into nothingness.

I almost immediately wake up, but we are _not _in Pippa's room.

Hm, I wonder where they are? Hehe.

I updated Demons as well, but it's M now. Docile M, though. Please read it anyway and review! Or else I won't update it and you won't know the surprise ending.

Has a riding lesson soon,  
LunaEquus

OMG PROJECT RUNWAY TONIGHT!

PLEASE REVIEW LOTS AND LOTS! Or else you won't get an update until I'm satisfied. Bwahaha!


	16. Chapter 16

I've been busy and lazy lately (not to mention drunk this past weekend) so I haven't really been writing. I hope this makes up for it! By the way, to those of you that PM/email/friend me on Facebook, LJ, etc... I love you all! I feel so special! I can never get enough of AGATB friends!

"Where the hell are we?"

"Ugh, my head!"

"Man, how much did I _drink_?"

"Why are we wearing white dresses?"

I only vaguely hear my friends' various complaints as I take in the bizarrely familiar place that I've visited only once before. The realms, where my mother is. Remembering this, I sit up quickly, marveling at the lack of inebriation or hangover that I feel.

"Gemma," Felicity says sharply once she notices that I am awake. "Where are we?"

My friends all sit grouped together apart from me, staring me down, united against me. They sense that I know something they don't, and they hate it. I realize that I'm going to have to tell them the truth, though I'm not sure exactly how to phrase it.

_Well, you see, I'm a witch and I've taken you to a realm of dreams, where dead people hang out. No, I'm not sure how we got here, and I have no clue how to get back. But look! I can move things with my mind._

Right. I'd rather tell them my silly intentions to bear Kartik's exotic children from my loins some day.

I take a deep breath and look away from their accusing glares. "Do you remember Kartik talking about the Order and Rakshana?"

"Yeah." Felicity's eyes are frigid.

"Well…" I tear a blade of emerald grass from the ground. "He was telling the truth."

If I had expected a response, some sort of crescendo of awe and confusion from them, I was wrong. Pippa yawns.

"Man, I must be _so_ drunk."

"Are you?" I snap, tired of their disbelief. How Kartik ever had the patience to put up with me, I'll never know. "Stand up – do you fall back down? Can you think straight? Form complete sentences?"

Her violet eyes widen slightly at my outburst. "Don't be a bitch, Gemma."

"I am not!"

"Gemma," Felicity warns. I turn on her.

"Don't you guys get it? This is all real!"

"It doesn't seem it," Ann says quietly. "Real. Is it? I've never seen such beauty…"

"It's a realm of dreams. Guarded by the Order."

Felicity narrows her eyes. "How do you know so much about it?"

"I've been here before," I whisper. "When I was in the hospital."

My friends are quiet, contemplating this odd information. I lay back in the plush grass and swear I can hear the blades sigh as my weight falls upon them. This is such a strange place, so…

The scent of my mother's perfume has me up and alert again. "Guys!" I say excitedly. "Come with me!"

I bring them to the burbling stream, where my mother sits with my old dog. "Mom!" I exclaim joyously. "I made it back!"

"Gemma?" My mother's face is awestruck. "You brought…friends?"

I turn back to my equally amazed friends. "Mom, this is Felicity, Pippa, and Ann," I say, gesturing to each of my friends. They murmur their hellos and Felicity leans in close to me.

"I thought you said your mother had…" she trails off, whispering.

"She did. She's here now."

This doesn't sit well with her. "You mean we're _dead_?" she screeches.

"No, I never said -," I am cut off.

"What?" Pippa asks. "We're dead?!"

"No! Let me explain!" My cheeks are bright red from the misunderstanding.

"Gemma," my mom says gently. "Let _me _explain." She motions for my friends and I to sit by her. I sit Indian style and wind my fingers into my dog's thick fur.

"Girls, that you have been able to come here is an honor." Satisfied smiles are exchanged between my friends. "The realms only choose the most worthy ones to step inside." She frowns. "But how did you get here?"

"Um," I say before anyone else can speak of our evils. My mother never approved of alcohol, and I doubt she does now. "I'm not sure. We just sort of…woke up here."

My mother's gaze is deep and unsettling. "I see," she says slowly.

"So you said that it's an honor to be here?" Felicity chirps, her face full of shining charm.

"It is," my mother says.

"But then why did that website not accept us?" Ann asks. She reaches a pudgy hand towards my dog nervously. He goes to lick her hand, and she pulls away.

"Website?" My mother looks at me. "What website might this be?"

I gulp, feeling oddly guilty. "OrderNet."

Her eyes flash menacingly for a moment. "That is not a good website, girls. Do not disclose any information to it."

"But we already did," Pippa whines. "And they ignored us, so no harm done, right?"

My mother's hand flutters to her head and she closes her eyes as if in pain. My dog whimpers and strains towards her. I watch this in helpless anxiety, not understanding this place or anything about it. Slowly, her hand comes away, her green eyes open.

"Girls," she says in the same voice she'd use for me when I wanted to stay up past my bedtime one time to watch the MTV Video Music Awards. "Do not, under any circumstances, give that website any more information. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," we chorus guiltily.

"Good. Gemma?"

"Yes Mom?"

"Has Kartik mentioned anything about the Door of Light test?"

"No," I say, blushing at the giggling whispers that accompany the mention of Kartik's name.

My mother looks over us all in bemusement, probably getting the completely wrong idea of why they're laughing. "Well, I believe it's coming up soon. You should do fine, especially since you've managed to bring three friends with you."

"What is it?" I cast a withering glare at Felicity, who shushes Pippa and Ann with one finger.

Mom smiles warmly and knowingly, though I suspect she _really_doesn't know anything. "I will let Kartik tell you. But for now, you girls need to get back."

"But why?"

"Because one must build up their tolerance of the realms."

"No, why can't _you _tell me about the Door of Light test?" My tone sounds more accusing than I would have liked, but there is no changing it now.

"Because a bond needs to grow between guardian and priestess," she says coolly. My friends explode into cruel giggles again. And of course, my mother misinterprets them. "Gemma, is there anything you'd like to…talk about?"

"Other than this whole magic, witch, door of light thing, which you don't want to talk about, no," I say snippily.

"You do remember that talk we had when you were in fifth grade, correct?" My mom is serious, which is actually worse than the looks my friends are sharing. I feel my face redden at the mention of the notorious "talk", which I had successfully erased from my memory until now.

"Mom!" I groan. "Don't!"

"Just remember that even if you have feelings…"

"Mom! It's not like that!" I screech, absolutely mortified. No one needs to know that it actually _is _like that, or at least I wish it was.

She seems mollified. "Very well then. Off you go."

She sends us of without the tears that drenched the last departure. I'm filled with so many emotions that I don't know what to feel, other than the strong urge to go home, take a bath, and sleep forever. And maybe call Kartik and eat some Chips Ahoy. With milk.

"Woah," Felicity says once we return from the realms. Everything, from Pippa's room to our positions, has remained the same, making us unsure if we had ever left in the first place.

"I'm not drunk anymore," Ann points out.

"Or hung over," Pippa agrees. A look of joy lights up her pretty face. "This is great! We can drink as much as we want and not feel a thing! We should go to the realms more often."

"Yeah, because that's why we'd _actually _want to go back, Pip," Felicity says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She twirls a lock of blonde hair round her finger dreamily. "We're the chosen ones," she murmurs. "How cool is that?"

"It's okay," I say, hugging my knees to my chest. I'm not sure how honored I feel to be a part of this, especially since the only things that seem to accompany it are bad. My mother's death, falling off Gatsby, the black car and death threats. I suppose the only good thing about it is…Kartik.

"We should make it official, our group," Felicity muses, still twirling her hair. "I'll think of something. It'll be incredible."

I don't like how she's trying to take control of everything now, but I don't say anything. Felicity's gray eyes land on me. "So Gemma."

"Hmm?"

"Simon Middleton, huh?"

I blush, remembering my kiss with the handsome stranger. Now that I'm not under the influence anymore, I can't stop guilt from creeping into my conscience like a stalker. _Don't worry yourself, Gem! You and Kartik aren't dating! _

Yet.

"Yeah," I say loftily. "He's cool."

She laughs incredulously. "He's _cool_? Gem, he's more than just cool. He's one of the richest, hottest, most popular guys around. Be honored that he likes you."

There we go with the honor again. I'm just not feeling it.

"Well, I don't really know him yet," I say delicately.

"Jump on that," Felicity says emphatically. "He's a catch."

"Ooh, yes he is!" Pippa says, giggling. I fix my eyes on her critically. Is this happy girl the same one I saw crying and drinking her problems away earlier?

"Guys don't like me," Ann states flatly. None of us know quite what to say to that.

"That's not true," I say automatically, flapping my hand in dismissal.

"Oh? Then who?" she challenges.

I open and close my mouth like a fish, unable to come up with a response. She smirks smugly at being right, though it is a sad battle to have won.

Ann's statement was definitely a killjoy. I look at my cell phone and notice that it really isn't as late as I thought it was. It's like no time passed when we went to the realms…

All of a sudden, I lose whatever drive I had left to stay at Pippa's. The urge to go home and sleep in my own bed is strong. I gather my things and stand up.

"Hey guys, I'm gonna head home," I say.

"What? Why?" Felicity demands.

"I have a lot of homework," I lie. I have a lot to think about is more like it.

"Whatever." She turns back to the others without skipping a beat. I'm taken aback by her lack of fight.

"Okay," I say, annoyed that no one is trying to stop me from leaving. "Bye."

"Bye," they say together.

When I get home, it's clear that my brother and father are already in bed, fast asleep, for the flat is quiet. I pull out my phone again once I slip into bed and turn the light off. Though all I want to do is sleep, I just have one text message to send.

_Hang out tomorrow? i have a lot 2 tell you…_

With a smile, I place my phone on my bedside table and curl up for the night. I am nearly asleep when my phone chirps.

_Sure. Saturday night concerts are more fun._

Eeee! Kartik's text messages are so cute! Notice how he doesn't abbreviate or leave out punctuation? How adorable!

Um, I think I had something to say here, but now that I'm actually here, I don't know what I wanted to say.

To anyone that has seen my Gemma photomanips, what do you think? I have all of them on Facebook, and some on IMDb and DevArt. Is it sad that I think I'd make a good Gemma? Well, an older, American one at least!

Wants to sleeeeeeep,  
LunaEquus

PLEASE REVIEW AND STUFF. LOTS! _  
_


	17. Chapter 17

Thanks for the reviews! Enjoy!

"Six sub-n times the quantity blah, blah divided by crap, times two sub-n equals my head exploding," I mutter aloud, letting my head fall onto my open notebook, completely forgetting about the face mask I'm hoping will minimize my pores. Does Kartik care about my pores? Probably not. Someone like him is into cooler things, like…guitar? Music? What _does _he like?

Hopefully me.

Ever since we finalized our plans for tonight, I haven't been able to keep him far from my thoughts, which makes math homework considerably _more _impossible. Is Kartik good at math? I'm sure he is. He's a senior, after all, in AP Calculus. Surely he could…help me. Lean over me to point out things, so that I feel the heat of him penetrating my sweater, tee shirt, bra strap…

_Bra strap?_ Since when does that count as a layer of clothing? I guess it does, but only if he was undoing said strap.

I wipe the green blob of face mask from my homework and push my notebook away. Oh well, that is what Sundays are for – homework you've put off until the last minute. I have legs to shave and a Kartik to see! Much more important than… pre-calc.

While I'm in the bathtub, I think about…well yes, Kartik. I picture his dark, long-lashed eyes and the bemusement they hold, gazing at me from behind the few strands of black hair that always falls in his face. Once I successfully envision his eyes, I can begin to imagine the rest of him too. Full mouth, straight nose, broad shoulders, long legs… I'm feeling awfully hot, and it has nothing to do with the water's temperature.

I wonder what he's doing right now…is he thinking about me? Wondering what to wear? Cleaning his apartment? Or maybe he's zoning out in front of the TV, completely oblivious to the fact that we're going to hang out later.

"I'll pick you up at seven," he said, still laughing because I not only managed to drop the phone in my excitement to talk to him, I also accidentally hung up on him because my cell phone is the stupidest thing in the world.

What we planned is that we'll have dinner and then hang out – he'll play his guitar. What he _doesn't _know is that I have quite the bomb to drop on him. I know how to get to the realms, and I'd like to take him.

After last night's trip, I got to thinking. Both times I woke up in the realms, I was unconscious in the real world. When my friends came with me, they had passed out from the alcohol, so by my logic – passing out takes one to the realms, at least if an Order priestess is present. It sounds ridiculous, and it is, but maybe Kartik will know more.

When I finally get dressed, I wear what I'd normally wear before I started hanging out with Felicity and Pippa – black jeans and a white cap-sleeved shirt. Nice, but not so trendy that Kartik will roll his eyes at me and call me a waspy girl, as he's done before. On my way out, I grab a hoodie – his hoodie, the one I forget to return – and zip it on. It still smells like him.

"Hey," Kartik says cheerfully when I slide into the passenger's seat. "Nice hoodie."

"You like? It was six hundred dollars at Barney's."

He laughs, a beautiful sound that makes me feel warm all over. "Really? I had one just like it once. It was forty bucks at the Gap."

I join in his laughter. "I'm sorry. I kept forgetting that I had it," I say, playing with the zipper.

"Keep it," he says. "It looks better on you."

I blush. "Thank you," I say awkwardly. I'm longing for the day simple compliments don't make me a nervous wreck.

Kartik thankfully doesn't notice my discomfort. "So, are you feeling adventurous tonight?"

"That depends…" I say cautiously. "What does this adventure entail?"

_Whips and chains? Hot oil? Lots of latex bearing the name of a certain historical wooden horse?_

"Raw fish, seaweed, and rice. Lots of rice."

Oh, a culinary adventure. "Sushi?" I ask, trying to mask the hint of disgust in my voice.

"It's good! Give it a try."

I don't want to be disagreeable, but at the same time, I'm quite hungry and don't see how gross fish rolls will fill me up, especially as I'm bound to throw it up anyway. "Well you're buying," I say. "I'll save my money to order pizza once you realize how much of a mistake this is going to be."

He laughs again. "I bet you'll love it."

"I bet I won't."

"How much?"

"Huh?" I turn and study his profile. His lips purse to contain a smile.

Kartik parks and turns off the car. "You think you'll hate sushi so much?"

"I _know _I'll hate it."

"Twenty bucks says you don't."

I scowl. "You're on."

* * *

"So remind me again why we have to eat at the coffee table?" 

Kartik sets the containers of food on the coffee table and sits. "Because you have to sit on the floor when you eat sushi. It's a cultural thing." He grins.

"I see," I say, clutching my can of diet coke as if it will save me from the raw fish. I have a feeling I'm going to be twenty dollars richer by the end of the night.

I watch closely as Kartik meticulously arranges a plate of sushi for me. "There," he says, placing it before me. "To start. California roll, some spicy tuna, and unagi."

He watches expectantly as I prod the aforementioned California roll with my chopstick. "What's that?" I ask, wrinkling my nose as I point to the bright orange dots peeking out.

Kartik shifts his eyes suspiciously. "Carrot."

I lean over to get a closer look. "Really? Doesn't look like carrot to me." I carefully pick a dot off. "Oh my God. They're fish eggs! Eugh!" I flick the offending egg off my finger and wipe my hand hastily on my thigh.

Kartik raises an eyebrow. "That's right, you only eat_ beluga_caviar, right?"

"The only eggs I eat are from chickens," I grumble. "And even then I can't think about where they came from."

"Picky, picky," he says, shaking his head. He picks up my discarded California roll with his chopsticks and pops it in his mouth. "Try that," he says once he swallows, pointing to the unagi roll. "No eggs."

Just to prove that I'm not hopeless, I pick it up with my fingers and chew it quickly. It's actually…pretty good. "I like it. What is it?" I ask through a mouthful of sushi.

"Eel."

_Eel?_ My eyes water as I fight the urge to gag. _Just swallow it, Gem! _

I can't. Quick as a flash, I grab a napkin and spit out the offending eel. Kartik watches in bemusement as I drink my coke to rid my mouth of every last morsel.

"I'm done," I announce, slamming the coke can on the table. "I'm ordering pizza with the twenty bucks you owe me and you can't stop me."

Kartik pouts childishly. "But you said you liked the unagi."

"Until you told me it was eel." I grimace for effect.

"You haven't even tried the spicy tuna roll," he points out. "I'm not paying unless you do."

I shake my head.

"It's tuna. You've had tuna fish before."

I glower at him. "Fine," I snap.

Kartik watches closely as I chew, making me feel like some animal at the zoo. Something about the spiciness of the sauce and the saltiness of the fish makes me close my eyes in defeat.

"Well?" he prompts.

"I like it," I say remorsefully.

He whoops gleefully. "Pay up," he says, holding out his hand. I slap the twenty dollar bill into his palm too forcefully. He grins and hands me the rest of the spicy tuna roll.

We talk about random things while we eat – schoolwork, the last episode of _Heroes_, and the impeding doom of college. "Where do you want to go to college?" I ask.

Kartik shreds a napkin in his hand. "I'm not."

"You're not going to college?" I'm shocked. "But you're so smart!"

He chuckles. "Gemma…do you really think I've had a normal education? I only came to _real_ school last year. Before that, I was tutored within the Rakshana since I was five."

I tap my chopstick against my coke can thoughtfully. "But how different could it have been? I've been in private school my whole life."

"When did you learn algebra?"

"Sixth grade."

"So you were how old? Eleven? Twelve?" I nod. "I was seven when I learned algebra."

My mouth drops open. "_Seven?_ Wow…wanna help me with pre-calc?"

He laughs. "Sure. But you see why I don't need to go to college? I already have my future laid out with the Rakshana."

I lean back against the couch and draw my knees to my chest. Kartik casts me an odd look, but I pay no mind. "But…what if you change your mind? What if you want to be an astronaut, or a veterinarian?"

"What am I – six?" He says, annoyed. He looks away. "Sorry, I just… You don't seem to understand how good it is to be in the Rakshana."

"It seems like the Sopranos," I say, mentioning the famous fictional mob family.

"Why?" Kartik is fast losing patience, but I can't figure out why.

"You don't seem to have any choices."

He is silent, chewing the inside of his cheek in thought. I can see from the straining of his neck that he is tense, angry.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry," I say softly, reaching a hand to place on his shoulder. He looks at it and relaxes.

"You weren't prying," he says, offering a genuine smile. And with that, the tense atmosphere dissipates. "So what did you want to tell me?" he asks, turning towards me and resting his arm on the couch behind me.

"Hmm?" I'm momentarily stunned by his nearness. "Oh! Yes, um…" I can't stop blushing. Kartik eyes me curiously. "My friends and I…last night…we went to the realms."

His eyes widen. "You took your friends?"

"Yes." He is silent. "How have I done it?" I press. "What is the Door of Light test?"

His head snaps up at this, making me realize just how far I was leaning towards him. "The Door of Light test separates true priestesses from false alarms. How have you heard of it?"

"My mother told me."

Kartik's face pales. "But how did you know enough of it to summon the door to the realms?"

"Summon?" I falter, completely confused. "I didn't summon anything…"

He bites his lip. "Then how did you take your friends?"

"I don't know," I whisper, suddenly feeling ashamed. "We were drinking, and…we passed out, and woke up in the realms," I say rapidly.

"That's it?" he asks suspiciously.

"Yes. I think it has something to do with losing consciousness…"

"But only when you're around," he finishes for me.

"Yeah."

Kartik takes a deep breath and gazes intently at my amulet. I am suddenly glad that my shirt is cut low enough to reveal a hint of tasteful cleavage. The look in his eyes makes me shiver, and I am reminded of another thing I wanted to mention.

"Kartik," I say softly. "I want you to come with me."

His eyes meet mine. They are so dark, like the velvety black of the sky before dawn. "Where?"

"The realms."

He breaks my gaze. "No, I can't."

"Why not?"

"I'm not supposed to. The Rakshana -,"

"The Rakshana can't control you, Kartik," I blurt out, startling him. I lower my voice to a whisper. "I want you to come."

Uncertainty seems to dull his beautiful eyes. I hate seeing him so…obedient, like someone who must ask their parents before they do something. He needs to be persuaded, and fast, or I might lose his interest forever.

Before I can think over the consequences, my hands are cupping his face and I am kissing him. The scent of him fills me, pulls me in, until it takes all of my strength to pull away. "Please," I whisper.

Something in his eyes has changed. Instead of uncertain, they are devious, lit up and shining.

"So, are you feeling adventurous tonight?" I ask, reiterating him from earlier.

He grins. "That depends. What does this adventure entail?"

Hmm... I foresee bare chests, drunken kisses, and crying. Let's see if I'm right!

Can't wait until The Sweet Far Thing!!!! Oh yeah, and Christmas,  
LunaEquus

PLEASE REVIEW!!! Or else Kartik won't take his shirt off. And that is a fact.


	18. Chapter 18

Thanks so much for all the reviews!!! This chapter is, well...a bit of a doozy. Ish. Enjoy!

"Pick your poison," Kartik says, opening the cupboard above the refrigerator. Inside is an impressive array of various bottles of alcohol, from Grey Goose to Jose Cuervo.

"Why do you have all of this?" I ask, wondering if Kartik is secretly an out-of control partygoer. I'd have guessed the opposite due to his relatively quiet demeanor. This makes me worry of what people think of when they see me – do they just see some snob? A freak? Can they tell what I've gone through by the look on my face? Hopefully not.

"We've collected quite a bit over the years," Kartik says, tilting his head in consideration. "Amar and I, and our friends of course."

"Friends?" I echo stupidly. The thought of Kartik having a life outside of what I already know has never crossed my mind. Now that is has, however, I am curious. "What are they like?"

"They are Rakshana, like me, like Amar was too." That is all he offers on the matter. "So…?" He gestures to the open cabinet.

"Oh," I mumble. "Um…" Faced with the choice of what I want, I suddenly realize how illicit what I'm planning is. Drinking has never seemed wrong with Felicity and Pippa and Ann, where drinks were just_ handed _to you for the experience, the taste of the forbidden without any of the risk. But here, with Kartik, with a_choice_, I am not so sure. I feel small and silly and too young to be alone with a boy. All I want is to put on pajamas, curl up on the couch with my mom and watch reruns of _The Cosby Show._ But there is no going back to that. The only way I'll see my mother again is if I go to the realms, and the only way I know how to get there is to drink until I pass out.

I point to the golden bottle of tequila. "It made me pass out pretty fast," I say as explanation for my choice.

Kartik gives me an odd look. "You've got it all figured out, don't you?" His tone is condescending and it wipes the lingering blush from our earlier kiss off my face.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask icily, folding my arms across my chest.

Kartik chooses his words carefully as he reaches up to grab the Jose Cuervo. "I just feel like…someone in your position shouldn't be so willing to drink." He bites his lip, knowing he hasn't chosen his words well.

Tears prick unwillingly at my eyes so that I must look away, training my vision on the bare countertops in order to calm myself.

"Gemma, I didn't mean it that way…" he says softly, reaching out to touch my shoulder. I spin away from him.

"Yes, but you said it all the same."

"I only meant that -,"

"What did you mean, Kartik? That because my father is, I will be too? Do you think I'm turning into an alcoholic?" The last word is biting and harsh.

"No," he says firmly. "I don't. I only wondered how you could think so lightly of the thing that is ruining your father."

My mouth drops open. "How dare you -,"

Kartik holds his hands up in submission. "I stepped out of line. I'm sorry. But I do not mean it any less." He turns and walks to the living room, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

My eyes land on the open cabinet. I have a conflicting desire to pour all of that alcohol into the sink or drink it all and turn into the alcoholic party girl Kartik was practically accusing me of. I stare into the cabinet until the various labels seem to run together. I blink my tears away and tear a paper towel off the roll to fix my smudged mascara.

Kartik is right. He may not have said it in the best way, but it was true all the same. Here I am, purposely drinking myself into another world, doing the exact opposite of what I want my father to do. I am a hypocrite and a rotten daughter.

Still, there is not a chance I will allow Kartik to know he's won. I muster up my dignity, and when I'm certain my face bears no signs of crying, I meet him in the living room.

He is sitting on the floor where we ate our sushi earlier, staring at the guitar propped up in the corner. I had forgotten that he was to play for me. Silently, I sit next to him. Neither of us makes any effort to acknowledge the other, and it is in this uncomfortable silence that we spend a few long moments, like a play date suddenly gone sour.

Only he doesn't have a mother to suddenly walk in and break the tension with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Yet another reminder of how much we have in common, another reminder of how I don't want to lose his friendship. Still, he could try a little harder.

"Another girl was murdered this weekend," Kartik says suddenly. His eyes don't stray from his guitar. "In Connecticut this time."

"Where in Connecticut?" I ask softly, my heart suddenly pounding with dread.

"Stamford," he says. I cannot help but sigh with relief that it was not someone from my own hometown of Greenwich.

"What happened?" I ask, resting my head against the couch.

"Same as before." His eyes soften as he looks at me. "They're getting closer."

It is with a chill I realize that he means the murders get a little closer to New York each time, a little closer to me. "I…" I trail off, realizing I have nothing to say. I feel suddenly alone, a victim. Kartik looks like he feels the same.

"I won't let them, Gemma," he says earnestly. "I promise, I won't…" His sentence is cut off as I tuck my head under his chin, wrap my arms around his middle, and draw myself in close. For a moment he is stiff and unmoving, but his arms find their way around me soon enough. "I just wish I knew why…"

"Why what?"

"There must be some connective thread between these murders. Some reason."

"Oh," I say, shifting my body so that I'm in a less awkward position against him. My head feels light and airy, and I can't stop thinking about how heat rises and how maybe that has something to do with it. Because he's so warm. But that is one of the stupidest things I've ever thought. "Well who would want those girls and me dead?"

Kartik's arms tighten around me at the thought. I'm beginning to think his cares for me go far past a normal guardian's. "I don't know. It isn't the Rakshana; they're just as baffled as I am. I can't see why one of the Order would want to kill a fellow priestess."

"What if it's just a coincidence?" I ask, my hopes rising at the thought. "What if those girls had something else in common that made someone want to kill them? What if it has nothing to do with me?"

He doesn't say anything. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. I raise my head to look him in the eye.

"Well?" I press.

Kartik sweeps a lock of hair behind my ear gently. "Then why are you being followed?"

The balloon of hope previously swelling in my chest bursts. "I forgot about that…"

He shakes his head. "Do you see why I worry so much about you?" he asks, exasperated. "You don't realize the danger you're in, Gemma!" I look from his face to his hands gripping my upper arms and back to his face again. His hands swiftly slide from my arms to my neck as he kisses me.

It is a different kiss than the ones we've shared before. It is deep, sensual, the heart-fluttering kiss you read about in romances. Everything, from his thumb softly stroking the nape of my neck to the way our knees tangle, threatens to melt me into an oozing puddle of happy Gemma goo.

Kartik's tongue presses against the seam of my lips, so I open my mouth and let him in. Until now, I've been unaware of my body, sitting slumped and motionless like a doll on a shelf. But I don't want to be some discarded toy; I want to be the new computer opened on Christmas morning, the favorite toy, the one he'll never get tired of. I rest my hands on his shapely shoulders, sliding them down his back as I close the gap between us. He moans softly, and pulls his face away.

"I care so much," he whispers with labored breathing. "Too much."

I don't understand, but I don't care. I want him to kiss me again.

"It's not possible to care too much," I murmur. I catch his eye and hold his gaze. His chocolate eyes study mine carefully, darting back and forth as if he can see something in one eye but not the other. His expression is of course, unreadable, but I swear I can see something that makes my mouth turn down slightly at the corners. Guilt.

"Yes it is," he says, disentangling himself from me.

"I don't understand." I feel cold now that I am no longer in his embrace.

I watch as he pours the tequila into two shot glasses, one of which has the New York Yankees insignia, the other, a likeness of King Tut. He looks up at me, mouth open, ready to say something, but then he furrows his brow. "Your preference?" He points to the glasses.

I can't read him. Just before he was chastising me about drinking, and then making out with me and talking about caring _too _much. I just don't get him. Maybe inebriation really is necessary to get through this odd night.

"I'm a Red Sox fan," I say, taking the King Tut glass.

Kartik wrinkles his nose. "How lame. BoSox suck. Well?" We clink glasses and I tilt my head back so that the tequila takes the shortest route down my throat, but I still taste the foul alcohol anyway. I cough. "Chaser?" I look up with watering eyes to see Kartik holding out his Coke to me.

I shake my head. "I'm fine."

A few shots later, my lips and fingers are numb and time seems to pass on its own accord. The seconds seem all at once drawn out and fast, confusing and disorienting me to no end. The TV is on, tuned to _Family Guy_, and Kartik is laughing, his eyes a little brighter than usual. I frown. When was the TV turned on?

"How are you feeling?" Kartik asks. I smile widely and suppress the urge to laugh, not that I can feel anything funny about being asked how I feel.

"I think…that I am a little bit…" I cannot help it – I giggle. "Tipsy."

"Oh?" He leans his face in close to mine. "And are you a fun drunk?"

I choke on a laugh. "I sure _hope _so!"

He takes another shot, wincing at the taste, and refills his glass; mine seems to be misplaced, though it could be in my hand that I have no energy to move. "More?" he presses, holding the glass up to my face.

I make a face and push his hand away. "The Yankees suck," I pout.

The glass is back in my face. "Just one more," he says. "I took one so you have to as well."

I shake my head. "Nope."

The shot is tossed back into his mouth again and the glass is refilled.

"Keep that up and you'll be dead, Kartik," I murmur, feeling warm and sluggish.

"What do I need to do to get you to drink this?"

"I won't drink out of a Yankees glass." I roll my head and look at him, watching the wolfish grin that forms on his wet lips.

Kartik pours the tequila into his mouth, but does not swallow. Instead, he presses his lips to mine and forces the drink into my mouth. I shriek as most of it spills onto my shirt. "Kartik!" I pull the wet fabric away from my chest in disgust.

"Mmm, terribly sorry," he murmurs, kissing me again. "Shall I help you take that off?"

A blush spreads throughout my whole body, from my spinning head to my tingling toes. A smile forms at my lips and threatens to grow to unattractive proportions. There is only one way to prevent that. And suddenly I'm upon him, kissing him fiercely, pressing my wet chest into his with such a force that he falls onto his back and pulls me on top of him. We struggle on the floor, arms trying to find skin to touch, legs kicking against the spinning room. And then we are up again, finding balance against each other in the same way books use bookends.

I am certain that I am kissing him, but I cannot feel him in the way I did earlier. I feel hollow, numbed by the alcohol and discouraged. I pull him closer, wrapping my arms so tightly around him that they ache. All I want is to feel the same warmth, the same magic. It is there but hidden, foggy. I groan in frustration and break away, to fix my jeans that have slipped down far enough to make me aware of potential carpenter's crack.

Kartik is panting, his hair mussed and his eyes wide. "It's so hot in here," he complains, getting up and stumbling to the thermostat. He turns the heat down, but still isn't satisfied. Swaying on the spot, he pulls his shirt off, revealing his leanly sculpted chest and stomach. A tingling sensation forms elsewhere, besides my fingers and toes.

"You're so hot in here," I say, though my voice sounds so foreign to me it could easily be the TV talking. He drops to his knees in front of me, his eyes glued to somewhere below my chin. I follow his gaze and gasp; my bra is perfectly visible through my wet shirt. Kartik averts his eyes, blushing from more than just tequila. The sight of my practically transparent shirt both shames and arouses me.

I grab the half-empty bottle of tequila and drink straight from it, putting my fate in its shady hands. If bottles had hands. Which they don't. So maybe I'm just taking the easy way out.

"Kartik," I say slowly. I unbutton my shirt a few holes. "My shirt's ruined."

"I'm sorry," he says quickly. "Let me fix it." His hands linger at the hem, lightly touching my bare sides, just before he pulls it over my head. "All better?" he whispers, his lips just brushing against mine.

"Much." I kiss him and the night begins swirling like a draining bathtub. Somewhere between kicking my jeans off and unzipping his, I lose consciousness.

**Oh HO! What's this?! Not..SEX, is it? Guess you'll have to wait to find out!**

**Yes, I am aware of out of characterness. Just know that my characters aren't necessarily supposed to be the same as the original story. I've made Gemma far more bold and sure of herself, but I'd like to say it's still pretty in-character considering her background as a rich kid from Greenwich, Connecticut.**

**Ah well,  
LunaEquus**

**PLEASE REVIEW LOTS! (and lots! Concrit! Good stuff!)**

**BTW, Gemma Doyle has a Facebook, as does Kartik, Felicity, and Ithal. You should find and friend them all, especially Gemma and Kartik, because I um, helped them get started. Yes, Gemma's profile picture is knee-socked feet.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Love you all, you sweet reviewers you!!! Enjoy the next chapter. **

Without even opening my eyes, I can tell something is wrong. It hasn't been the instant transition from losing consciousness and waking up in the realms as it was before. No. Time has passed. A lot of it. And I am cold, freezing in fact. Unable to ignore the dread unfurling violently in my churning stomach, I crack an eye open and realize that my plan hadn't worked; I'm still in Kartik's living room.

My stomach turns again and my head gives a protesting throb as I struggle to sit upright. My clothes lay discarded haphazardly around the room; I stare at them in utter confusion for a moment before I realize what that means. I'm not wearing any clothes, save for my underwear and bra.

I vaguely understand that the room isn't in clear focus, that I am still fairly drunk, but I am also sober enough to feel all sorts of panic. I fix my bra strap so that it sits straight on my shoulder and will my stomach to stop churning. It doesn't work. I make it to the bathroom just in time to empty my stomach, praying with all my heart that Kartik sleeps through the awful sounds of retching.

By the time I wash my face and rinse my mouth, I am crying. Tears stream down my clean cheeks and drip onto my bare chest, making me feel more naked than I did when I first woke up. I'm cold, alone, and unsure of my bearings. If we didn't go to the realms, then what happened? I cannot remember a thing.

I wrap a bath towel around myself and creep out into the living room. My first stop is the thermostat, turned down below sixty degrees because of Kartik's drunken hot flash. _This _I can remember. Everything afterwards is a blank, but what might have happened nags at me.

Kartik is naked save for boxer shorts, and is sprawled on the floor near where I woke up, sleeping peacefully and looking very innocent. I kneel next to him, gazing foggily upon his body. Did we…? I hold back a sob. _Oh God, please no…_

I place my palm on his shoulder and shake him gently. He is very warm, so warm that I want to wrap myself in his arms and fall back asleep. But with the uncertainty of last night hanging heavily over my head, the very thought sickens me.

"Kartik," I whisper. My voice is very hoarse. "Wake up."

He makes a strangled noise and suddenly jumps awake, more disoriented than I was before. "What the…? Gemma?" He looks me up and down and his eyes widen. "Why are you wearing…" He trails off and looks down at himself. "Oh God. We didn't…"

"Did we?" I ask, panicked.

He shrugs noncommittally, wincing as he grips at his head. "I don't know."

"Kartik! Do you remember or not?"

Kartik reaches for his shirt and pulls it on. "I don't remember," he says bluntly. The lack of emotion in his voice spurns me. How can he be so unbothered when I'm a wreck? My vision becomes blurred as tears fill my eyes. I watch him as he struggles to pull his jeans back on and wonder if he even notices how upset I am.

Before I realize what I am doing, an empty soda can flies from its spot on the floor to connect with Kartik's head. I didn't even lift a finger.

"What the hell?" Kartik spins around, his face contorted by anger. His eyes soften when he finally notices my tears. "What's wrong?"

"As if you don't know," I say bitterly.

"_I don't_," he insists. "Tell me." He sits next to me and slings an arm over my shoulders. I stiffen up and turn away. "Gemma…"

"We didn't go to the realms, for one thing!"

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that."

I let out a long, shaky breath. I am too upset already to pay any more attention to his aloofness. "Kartik, did we have sex or not?" I slowly turn to look him in the eye. Even with messy hair and dark circles under his eyes, he still manages to make my heart skip a beat.

"Honestly?" He looks deep into my eyes sadly. "I have no idea."

I push away from him and grab for my clothes. "I can't believe this," I whimper. "How could I have been so stupid?"

"Gemma," Kartik looks as if he wants to console me, but he changes tactics. "Can't you…tell?"

"Tell? Sorry Kartik, I don't have enough experience losing my virginity to be able to tell!" I snap. His eyes widen at my outburst. I retreat into the bathroom and slam the door to put my clothes on with the little bit of self respect I have left.

When I emerge again, Kartik is sitting on the couch, looking very lost. "Gemma, I'm sorry," he whispers.

Looking at him, I consider the situation. Even if we did have sex, at least it was him and not someone else. At least I know he was a virgin and therefore…clean. At least I like him. Very much. "I just wish we knew," I say, sitting next to him. He catches my eye and smiles guiltily. I'm not as angry, but I don't think I will be comfortable with this for awhile.

My cell phone suddenly rings, belting out the first few lyrics of_Misery Business_. I pull it out and frown, not recognizing the number. "Hello?" I ask, confused.

"Hey, Gemma?"

"Yes?"

"This is Simon, Felicity's friend. From Pippa's party?"

My eyes widen. I had forgotten about him. "Oh, hi Simon," I say. Kartik's head twitches as he looks at me and frowns.

"Hey, yeah, well I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime."

"Well today I'm kind of busy," I say slowly.

"Maybe some time next weekend? I call you."

"Um, okay…" My brain isn't really working well. It can't be. Did I just accept his offer to call?

"Great. I'll be in touch." He hangs up before I get a chance to respond. I close my phone, utterly perplexed at what just happened.

"Weird…" I whisper.

"Who was that?" Kartik asks, trying to feign indifference.

My cheeks burn. "Oh, um, just some guy I met last night. Two nights ago, I mean."

"And you're hanging out with him." An eerie, fake smile is plastered on Kartik's face.

"Apparently," I say, trying to make light of the unexpected and mostly unwanted phone call. Kartik doesn't buy it.

"But what about us?"

"Us?" This is the first I've heard of any _us._ "I uh… what _are _we?"

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Are you kidding?"

An odd sort of fear seizes me. "No…Kartik, we haven't exactly been definitive. What exactly are you to me?" It is a fair enough question. Regardless of what may or may not have happened last night, we haven't exactly been a couple.

His face falls and betrays him one moment of visible sadness. His mouth sets in a firm line and a cruel hardness overcomes his face. "I am your guardian. And you should be going."

I'm speechless.

* * *

For the rest of the day, I cry. I cry for my innocence and my morals. I only stop crying enough to finish my pre-calc homework, and then I cry more, until I'm waterlogged, tired, and just not interested in crying anymore. Boys are scum, I realize. They get you drunk and steal your virginity and then they push you away.

_You started the whole drinking thing, Gem._

Duh, but I didn't ask to be violated.

Part of me feels worldly, more mature, a woman with experience. I only wish I could remember the experience, or at least know for sure if I _went there_ or not. The other part of me feels small and scared, still attached to the one that accompanied me on my odd journey. It is not so much last night that upsets me, it is this morning. How could Kartik treat me that way? I thought he really cared for me. He knew about my father, my mother; he was _there_. And now…I've lost my only true ally, but I don't really know what I did wrong.

When I arrive at school the next day, I vow to act as if nothing is wrong. Kartik doesn't look at me, and I only look at him in passing, as I've always done.

Only now I have another motive behind it.

Perhaps I've been around Felicity too much lately, but she's rubbed off on me in the way she goes about being spurned. Kartik will pay for what he did to me; I will make sure of it.

We finally lock eyes during sculpture class. Felicity had just been telling us a story about a guy she hooked up with Saturday night who had made a complete fool of himself. The story was so ludicrous, we burst out laughing, accidentally knocking mosaic pieces onto the floor. "I hooked up with a fool on Saturday night too," I announce loudly. From the corner of my eye, I can see Kartik glaring at me.

"Oh yeah?" I can tell Felicity doesn't believe me. "How was it?"

"Unmemorable." I throw a charming smile in Kartik's direction without bothering to mask the hatred in my eyes. He seems to recoil from my glare, but finally returns it with a sultry one of his own. It is an acceptance of war. The knowledge of this almost thrills me, if it didn't hurt so much to begin with.

Days of this pass. I don't know what is worse – that we've reached a stalemate, or that our silent fight means that we really still care.

I have been steadily working up the nerve to ask Felicity's advice on the situation, indirectly, of course. I do not know for sure that she has had experience, but maybe she can offer some insight on how to…tell if my…virtue is intact.

One day in December, I get my chance.

"Last day of class!" Pippa cries, throwing her arms into the air. "Two and a half weeks of no school!"

"Two and a half weeks of sleeping late," Ann adds.

"Lots of parties!" Felicity exclaims.

"Two and a half weeks of getting fat on Christmas cookies," I joke, though my heart isn't as light as I act. It will be the first Christmas without my mom. I can't imagine it being any fun at all.

"Ooh yes, cookies!" Pippa hugs me giddily. "Speaking of cookies…Annie, come with me to get some before the lunch ninnies throw them out?"

Ann, as always, does what is asked of her. They parade away arm in arm, Christmas carols spewing from Pippa's lips. Felicity looks coldly after them. My heart pounds in anticipation; now is the time to ask my question.

"Hey, Fee?" I ask, pretending to look through my locker for something.

"Yeah?"

"Are you…a virgin?" The last word comes out in a whisper, as if it's a disease.

She laughs. "Not since last year!"

"Wow!" I can't help but express my surprise. My question is lost as my curiosity gets the best of me. "With who?"

Felicity grins. "Aren't _you _curious! Who do you want to do it with? Simon?" she presses.

My face floods with color. Simon and I have been hanging out a lot lately, and we're somewhat of a couple, I guess. Felicity finds this hilarious. "Oh shut up. I'm just curious. What's it like?"

"It's fun."

"Always?"

"No, not always. The first time sucked."

"Why?" My question floats back to the surface.

"Um…" She leans against the locker next to mine. "It hurt a lot. I mean, it was still fun, it just hurt, you know?"

I shake my head. "Does it hurt for everyone?"

"So I've heard. I mean, think about it." She makes lewd gestures with her hands that make me laugh. "Ouch."

Relief lightens my heart considerably. I may have been hungover, but I don't remember any pain of the likes Felicity has told me. I suppose Kartik and I didn't…do it. I'll have to tell him.

_You're not talking to him, though._

Damn. That's right. He's been hanging out with this girl from his calculus class, this nerdy brunette named Emily. I normally just ignore the sight of them together; all's fair in love in war. It still hurts, to think that despite our obvious ties together, Kartik may have other interests besides me. I'm oddly not threatened by the girl though. She's pretty plain, a tragic dresser, and very boring.

Still, I can't help but wonder if he ever plays guitar for her, or if she even knows that he does play. What _is _the extent of their relationship?

Speak of the devil.

Kartik and Emily pause by her locker, a few down from mine. He throws a single glance in my direction before returning his attention to her. She seems thrilled to be talking to him.

"So Gemma, you sure you don't want to do it with Simon?"

"Hah!" I exclaim. "Very funny." I hardly know the guy, and he doesn't affect me in the same way that Kartik once did.

"Come on! He likes you a lot. He tells me all the time how pretty you are." Felicity's voice is loud as always, but instead of listening to her and being flattered at her words, I'm watching Kartik for his reaction. It's obvious he has heard every word. The scene that unfolds is very confusing. All at once, Kartik turns around, seeming flustered and angry. He catches my eyes and suddenly leans forward and kisses Emily full on the lips. In that one moment, my heart breaks, snaps in two.

"Actually yes, Fee, I think I will sleep with Simon," I say, not caring anymore.

Kartik breaks away from Emily and stomps away from her, pushing past me roughly. "Slut!" he hisses under his breath. I run to the bathroom before anyone can see the tears that spring suddenly from my eyes, staining my cheeks with black eyeliner so that I look just as ugly and unloved as I feel.

**Woah fast. A sort of jumbled mess, no? The odd tone of the chapter is intentional, if you feel it. I want you to feel as awkward as Gemma, but I'm not sure if it works so much.**

**So they didn't do it. Shame.**

**Blah blah blah,  
LunaEquus**

**PLEASE REVIEW!!! Or else Kartik might kiss Emily out of spite again. Shame. **


	20. Chapter 20

**Gah! Sorry it's taken forever for me to update. Most of you know by now how depressed I got over the ending of TSFT (I have it and read it already), but I'm better now. Just remember, if I could get through it, so can you, for I don't think anyone could have been affected more by it than me. Anyway, thanks for the reviews so far and enjoy!  
**

"Spill."

I stare stone-faced into the steaming mug of hot chocolate before me. The blob of whipped cream slowly melts into the cocoa, drooping like a dying ghost. I flick the mug with my finger and it settles into a flat film over the surface.

"Gemma Doyle, you are going to tell me what is wrong and that is that," Felicity says, crossing her arms. Her eyes make me feel as vulnerable as one does in a hospital gown, cold and constantly worrying about their backside.

I don't respond.

"Honestly, you've been acting weird for weeks."

"Have I?" I ask disinterestedly.

"Yeah, what gives?"

I look up at Felicity. Her face is softer than I've ever seen it. Kinder, concerned. I realize I've never been around Felicity without Pippa tagging along. In this sense, I may not even know her.

"I…had a fight with Kartik," I blurt out.

"Oh? Over what?"

The past few weeks have been such a blur, filled with such spite and anger that I hardly even remember the reason for it all. I'm not sure why I've been so angry; in hindsight, it seems such a trivial thing. "I don't know," I mumble. "But I don't think he wants to be my guardian anymore." That is true. Since our fight, he hasn't called me or popped up anywhere. In fact, it's as if he's trying his best to avoid me.

"What a jerk," Felicity says. "And I was beginning to think differently of him."

"Were you?" My head snaps up at this. I curse myself for sounding so interested.

Felicity raises her eyebrows. "Yeah. I mean, since we've been to the realms, he doesn't seem like such a freak anymore. Ah well. Don't let him get you down. After all, you've got Simon."

"Yeah," I say hollowly. "And Kartik's with that stupid Emily girl."

She laughs. "_Stupid _Emily is actually really smart. A total nerd."

"Is she?" My heart sinks as I remember what Kartik said of his education. Why would he want to waste time with a girl who can't finish her pre-calc homework when he can have intellectual conversations about…smart things?

"Yeah. She'd be pretty too, if her style wasn't so…hopeless."

"Mmm." The more Felicity says, the more I can't help but think that Emily is much more Kartik's type than I am, even if she's pathetic. I can't say this doesn't bother me, to want to switch places with a nerd, if only to be closer to him.

"But anyway…" Felicity slurps noisily at her hot chocolate. "I can't believe none of us heard back from that website. What was it again?"

"OrderNet," I say. I take a careful sip of my own cocoa, careful not to burn my tongue. It tastes almost _too _rich and creamy, and for a moment I long for the uncomplicated days when my own mother would make me cocoa from a packet. The kind for marshmallow lovers. I remember how I'd curl up on the couch under a comforter with my dog laying on my feet, emerging from my warm nest only enough to be able to drink without spilling it all over myself. My heart stabs with pain; it's almost Christmas and my mom is dead. I place the mug back on the table, my gut wrenching with sadness I try with all my might to mask.

"Hello? Earth to Gemma?"

"Hmm? Oh, sorry Fee. What's up?"

"I was asking if you've been checking the right email account."

"Um…" I frown as I think back to when I made my original inquiry to OrderNet. I had used my old Gmail account to register, an account I haven't checked since I first gave up on ever receiving a reply. "I haven't checked anything but my school account for awhile," I say, excitement bubbling in my chest. "Can I use your computer?"

"By all means!" Felicity practically pushes me to her desk.

I log in to my old account and sift through weeks worth of spam and Facebook notifications. "Oh!" I exclaim, clicking on an email. "They replied!"

"What'd they say?"

I clear my throat. "_To the prospective priestess Selene,_

_Congratulations! You have been selected to be granted access to OrderNet's reserves and forums. I am sorry to have taken so long to inform you of this; I had been vacationing in New England, where the trees are so lovely in autumn. Please be sure to explore the site's many articles and special features._

_Best wishes, Circe, Webmistress."_

"Woah," Felicity says. "That's pretty cool." Her enthusiasm does not reach her eyes.

"I guess," I say, shrugging uneasily.

"Didn't you mom tell you not to trust the site?"

"Yeah."

"So then you shouldn't."

I'm confused at Felicity's behavior. Just a moment ago she was pushing for me to find out and now she is telling me to ignore it. I dare not accuse her of being jealous though.

"I'll ask Kartik about it. Maybe he can tell me if it's okay or not."

Felicity regards me coolly. "I thought you didn't want to associate with him anymore."

"I never said that."

"Mmm, I see."

I doubt she does.

* * *

Later on, I sit at my desk and stare at my computer screen until my eyes blur. What harm is a website? I can't hurt just to look. It's not as if it's porn or anything. Still…my hand hovers over the mouse, hesitating from my mother's warning. 

Earlier, I had called Kartik to ask his opinion. He sounded weird, not speaking in disinterested monotone as I was, but…he sounded elated. Giggly, even. I fought the urge to ask him if Emily was with him and waited for him to say something. A long pause went by in which I could tell he was holding his breath, but he let it out in a high laugh. "Do what you want," he said, and hung up on me. I'd wonder what his problem was if I cared. But I don't care. Not about him.

Gazing at the webpage, I notice something next to the _log out_link. A tiny envelope. I click on it and it brings me to a private message that I've just received.

_You have many questions. I have many answers._

That is all it says. It was anonymously sent.

"Huh," I say aloud.

All of a sudden an AIM window pops up. My heart nearly stops, thinking the moment something from a cheesy horror movie, but then I see it is only Kartik, or rather, _kitrakattack._

**kitrakattack: **what are you doing?

**flappersnfringe: **none of your business

**kitrakattack: **you called me earlier

**flappersnfringe: **duh.

**kitrakattack: **what did you want again? I forgot.

**flappersnfringe: **you forgot?! that was less than an hour ago!

**kitrakattack: **my mind was on other things.

**flappersnfringe: **better keep it that way

**kitrakattack: **what does THAT mean?

**kitrakattack:** hello?

I have absolutely no patience for Kartik's idiocy and bad memory. I put my away message on and ignore his pathetic attempts to get my attention. I scroll to OrderNet's search bar and type in my query for the Door of Light test. My phone chimes as I'm sent a text message. With an aggravated groan, I flick my phone open to receive it. It's from Kartik, of course. Though he annoys me, I can't help but enjoy his sudden attention.

_Get off that website._

My blood runs cold as I look around my room frantically. Is he here now, spying on me? He cannot see in through the window…perhaps a camera hidden somewhere? My hands shake as I text him back. _R u spying on me?!_

I scrutinize my room once more, almost jumping when my phone chimes again.

_NO. Trust me, close the browser and don't go back to that site._

I take off my away message.

**flappersnfringe: **how the hell do you know what site I'm on?!

**kitrakattack: **don't ask questions. Just listen.

**flappersnfringe: **what am i? your daughter? You can't tell me what to do.

**kitrakattack: **don't you think I may know a bit more about this than you do?

**flappersnfringe: **nope

**kitrakattack: **well I do.

**flappersnfringe: **then tell me why I can't see the site

**flappersnfringe: **you don't even know, do you?

**kitrakattack: **that's none of your business.

**flappersnfringe: **and what websites I look at are none of yours. How do you know, anyway?

**kitrakattack: **I'm not going to tell you.

**flappersnfringe: **I swear to god if you have a camera in my room…

**kitrakattack: **no!

**flappersnfringe: **then how? Can you see what else I look at? Should I search for some porn to make it worth your while?

**kitrakattack: **ha ha, you slay me.

**flappersnfringe: **well can you?

**kitrakattack: **I can only tell if you visit this particular site

**flappersnfringe: **good.

**kitrakattack: **close the browser gemma

**flappersnfringe: **I don't think I want to

**kitrakattack: **you have to

**flappersnfringe: **fuck off

**kitrakattack: **fine. Get yourself killed.

Kartik signs off before I can inquire about what he said. My mind is buzzing with questions, but they do not bother me half as much as he does. How the hell can a website kill me? He's crazy.

I put my iTunes playlist on shuffle and read up on the Door of Light test. Apparently it is a test to ultimately distinguish true Order priestesses from false alarms. A true priestess should be able to summon the Door of Light, a means to the realms; if she cannot, she must turn away, broken with the knowledge that she is not so special after all.

After reading this, I'm seized with two equally strong fears – that I will never be able to summon the door, and what might happen if I can. If I can't…will Kartik be taken away from me? Given to another girl to be her guardian? Will he care that I am useless? Why do I care? He means nothing to me.

And what if I do summon it, become a real priestess? Will I have to do magical things? I'd rather just master high school and the complicated friendships I've landed myself in. As much a I just want to be normal though, I can't help but crave this power. And so, I stand with my thoughts determined, eager to see if I might hold a place in the Order.

_Close your eyes, _the website said. _Clear your mind of all but a door edged in golden light. _I do so, but nothing happens. I stand still, feeling stupid for my fruitless efforts. Maybe I'm not ready. Maybe my way to the realms is better. Maybe.

**Sorry it's so short! I didn't have much to say this chapter. Next chapter will be in Kartik's POV! (I figure once every 10-20 chapters he should have a say in the story.)**

**Hmm...I wonder what was up with Kartik? Maybe you'll find out next chapter? Bwahaha! Oh yeah - their screennames... kitrakattack sounds cool and "Kitrak" is "Kartik" backwards. As for Gemma's... I picture her liking the glamour of the Roaring 20s and flappers and stuff. Hence her horse's name "Gatsby" and "flappersnfringe" the screenname. **

**I got my dream job at school! (Not sure if I said this...but I'll say it again) The Mounted Patrol! It's a big deal. Out of the 30-40 hopefuls, 6 got hired and I was one of them. We patrol the campus at night on horseback. I get paid to ride horses. Sa-weet!**

**Going to be now...,  
LunaEquus**

**PLEASE REVIEW! And if you've read TSFT, check out the new forum I created, just so we can spew spoilers without worry! **


	21. Chapter 21

**Kartik is hot. This chapter is in his POV. I've never smoked pot before, so forgive me if it doesn't seem realistic enough. Kartik is fond of the F-word, so be forewarned. Enjoy!**

By the time the joint reaches me a fourth time, nothing seems to matter anymore. I feel as if I can fall back and the hardwood floor will accept me like the comforting arms of a woman, soft and delicate and not Gemma. I realize I don't need that silly girl, or any girl. I don't need sex or love or marriage; those things don't make you happy in the end, or do they? I only hear of the problems. But here there are no problems, only the wide grins of my friends' faces, and their laughter that sounds in stereo.

I place the end of the joint between my lips and inhale. The smoke curls and dances in my lungs until I slowly exhale, steadily releasing the beautiful swirls back into the air. For a moment, the smokes forms patterns that resemble the way Gemma's hair looked in the rain. My eyes burn and I close them, and I breathe. All I need to do is breathe, and I won't think of her. She doesn't matter. Nothing matters, except this. I rest my head against the cool wood floor, hearing what seems to be a heartbeat, growing louder with every _thrum_. It hollows me out, and I cannot help but long for something, but I don't know what.

Something nudges me, a foot. My friend's foot.

"You fell asleep," he says.

"I didn't," I protest, grinning wildly. I'm certain my mouth has grown to twice its normal size; I touch it to make sure it hasn't. "I'm so fucked up," I murmur, rolling onto my back.

"Good stuff, huh?" My friend Jon holds the joint like a precious gem. _Gemma. _

I groan. "Too good."

Something jolts me into a sitting position. "What the fuck?" It's my cell phone, vibrating mercilessly in my back pocket. My heart races from the sudden fright. "Hm?" I mumble once I manage to open it.

"Kartik?" Gemma's voice sounds faraway, lost, like me. I takes me almost a full minute to respond.

"Er, yeah? Hi Gemma."

"Do you have a minute? I need to talk to you."

"I have many minutes."

She is silent for a bit, and I have to check my phone to make sure the call wasn't dropped. God, I am fucked up. When she finally speaks again we agree to meet up at a Starbucks by her. My fingers and toes are tingling when I put my phone away.

"I'm leaving," I announce. My friends are slumped and mellow; there is no excitement or amusement to be found today. They dismiss me with disinterested waves and I can't say I'm sorry to be leaving them.

Outside, it is snowing as I make the walk uptown to where I'll meet Gemma. Snowflakes dust my coat and bare hands, where they melt quickly. I watch, fascinated, as they fall in fat flakes from the steely sky. These swirls are much prettier than smoke; I watch them with wide, unblinking eyes until I nearly crash into a street vendor. I giggle throatily at the man's furious face and continue walking.

It is dusk when I finally find the particular Starbucks I was told to go to. The sky is a cloudy pinkish-purple, thoroughly ruined by the many lights of the city. Gemma waits against the wall of the building, tapping her foot impatiently. She has not yet seen me, and folds her arms close to keep her warm. I should like to have that job – keeping her warm – but she will not have it. A shame, really, because she looks adorable there, with her cashmere hat and cream-colored pea coat. Her hair shines golden in the glow from the store's window, and snow clings to it, slowly melting into the silken strands.

I fall against the wall beside her, grinning at her like the lifted fool I am. She frowns at me.

"Why are you so happy?"

I dip my head so that my forehead brushes against her hair. I can smell the perfume on her neck and I must fight not to kiss her there. "You look adorable," I whisper.

Gemma freezes for a moment and pushes me away gently. "You smell like smoke." Her brilliant green eyes narrow at me. Shit.

"I was…My friends…We were, we _made _a bonfire." I grimace. Worst lie ever. "I nod to the door. "Shall we go inside?"

We order drinks and find a cozy table in a back corner. Gemma has some sugary mess of coffee and cream, but I hate drinks like that, so I just ordered plain coffee, though I swear the salesgirl gave me an odd look because of it.

"So what's up?" I ask, suddenly feeling very tired. A dull throb forms behind my eyes, the result of coming down from a high. I want nothing more than to crawl into bed and never emerge. I take a large sip of coffee and nearly choke, burning my whole mouth and throat.

Gemma leans back in her chair, her drink untouched, and sizes me up. "Your eyes are bloodshot," she states flatly.

"Yes, and?" I'm not in the mood to be lectured on the evils of recreational drugs.

"Do you have allergies or something?" She's challenging me. I can sense it.

"No." I glare at her, daring her to say any more. She takes a dainty sip of mocha-something and says nothing. "What did you need to talk about? Surely you didn't just want to _hang out_."

Gemma's lips purse and she looks down. "I tried to summon the door of light," she says softly.

"You stayed on the web site," I say, exasperated. "I told you not to!"

"I needed answers!" she hisses. With her eyes narrowed and lips pouting in anger, she never looked more hot. "You haven't told me anything!"

I lean forward over the table. "I've told you everything I know. I've told you everything you _need _to know."

She leans forward as I did, lowering her voice to an angered whisper. "My mother said you were supposed to tell me about the Door of Light test."

"Your mother is dead, Gemma."

For the briefest moment, she freezes, her eyes filling with tears so rapidly that I can see my reflection shaking in them. They're so beautiful I am stunned for a second, unable to think of anything but her eyes. I should never like to look anywhere else. And then it hits me, what I said. I lean back, horrified.

"Gemma, I -,"

Her chair scrapes back as she stands, wrapping her scarf around her neck violently. "Insensitive little prick," she mutters.

I reach for her hand. "I didn't mean to say it like that!"

She pulls away. "I should never have thought I could trust you, Kartik." She pulls on her coat and makes for the door. My head pounds mercilessly now. I dash after her, earning withering stares from the various customers I push past. I could care less.

I catch her half a block down the street. "Gemma, please," I say, grabbing her arm. "Don't be mad at me."

She laughs bitterly. "I'm far past being mad at you, Kartik." She spits my name out as if it was the name of an STD.

"Why?" I ask quietly. She bites her lip and says nothing. "Walk with me, please." I give her no time to object and steer her to a deserted bench near the park. "I honestly know nothing about the Door of Light test itself, Gemma," I say as I collapse into the bench next to her. She stares straight ahead, looking strained, as if she might fly away at any moment. "But I do know this. Every girl that has been found dead so far has taken the test and failed."

Gemma's lips part in shock and horror. I long to touch her bottom lip, run my finger along its curve… The silence stretches between us. Realization takes me once more by surprise.

"Gemma, you…"

"I couldn't do it," she whispers. "I tried to summon the door…" She turns to me, her eyes wide and fearful. "And it wouldn't come."

Dread seeps into my veins. My headache worsens, the urge to sleep for days increases. "That doesn't mean anything. The next test isn't until February. Maybe you just need to practice?"

"But how? I have no one to help me. I can't keep going to the realms the way I have been. It's unhealthy." She says this last bit a little harsher, glancing at me as she does.

I sigh heavily. "Does it bother you that I smoke pot?"

"Yes," she says stiffly.

"Why?"

"It's illegal."

I can't hold back a laugh. Leave it to the lawyer's daughter… "So is underage drinking!" She glares at me, affronted. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't do it that often. Only when I'm stressed. Which is often lately, it seems." I'm talking too much and I'm not entirely sure she's listening.

Gemma sighs. "Do you know anything else that might help me?"

"Only what I've been telling you. Watch out for black cars and don't go out alone. Call me if you need to."

She nods absently, deep in thought. She looks so small and alone right now, like a doll left on the shelf, abandoned for a better toy. Suddenly, I can't remember why we've been fighting. All I know is that I want to kiss her right now, and take her home with me so that she'll never look so lonely again.

Gemma's phone sings out the first few bars of Sinatra's _Let it Snow_. When she pulls it out, I briefly see that it is Simon calling her. Right. That's why we've been fighting. I try to close my ears to the conversation, but that's obviously impossible. She's to have dinner with him tonight. I feel an odd sinking sensation. Disappointment. I don't know what I was expecting, but I certainly didn't get it. I stand to leave.

"Where are you going?" Gemma asks, putting her phone away.

My fingers curl in a heartless wave. "Happy Holidays, Gemma." I shove my hands into my pockets and walk away. I don't look back.

It isn't until I'm nearly home that I realize that I've left her alone, exactly what I should be advising her against. I kick a rock, furious at myself. I'm a terrible guardian, unworthy of the Rakshana and everything else. A failure is what I am. This is the worst possible time to come down from a high. I have half a mind to light up again.

But I won't. I have nothing left to smoke. It's not as if I'm addicted to it, really, I barely do it at all, but lately I just don't want to think about anything. And if something so accessible can make me forget for awhile, why not do it? The fact that Gemma disapproves makes it just a bit more appealing right now.

I strip my smoky clothes off in the bathroom and step into the shower to rid myself of all traces of pot smoke and overpriced coffee house. My sudden exhaustion nearly brings me to the shower floor, but I manage to remain standing as I scrub myself clean. Why have I made such a mess of things? I should never have let myself fall for her. It's part of the Rakshana's honor code – never date or otherwise engage in activity that exceeds platonic boundaries with your priestess. It's a good rule, really, made to prevent exactly what I've done and continue to do. Because things between us didn't work out, we can't work together. I don't want to guard her and she doesn't want to listen. I fucked up big time.

And because she is so tightly intertwined in my life, I can't rid my thoughts of her. Everywhere I turn, there's the flash of her red hair – at school, on the streets… I pass the horses in Central Park and think of her. I see the lingerie in the window displays of Victoria's Secret and picture her wearing it. My heart even sings when I see knee socks. Gemma's everywhere. Everywhere. And I am screwed because of it. She doesn't love me. She more than hates me now.

What kills me is that I still don't even know if we had sex or not that night. As I recall though, that wasn't even the source of our fighting. Simon was. That prick that had the nerve to call her, though I can't imagine why Gemma would give him her number, or agree to see him, _right after we might have had sex. _Right there in front of me, she made a date with him. She was in a fucking towel, in my living room, agreeing to a date, right after she spent a night kissing me (and maybe more). What the fuck kind of game was she playing? Whatever it was, she no doubt learned it from her "friends". I knew she'd become one of them. Her innocence was only a guise. The tears, the trust, all an illusion in her fucked-up game.

I guess that falling victim to her games once isn't really what bothers me; it's that I still want more. It would be so much easier if I didn't care about her, want her so much. But I _do _care, I _do _want her, and _that _is what drives me to smoking. Every time I take a hit, I pray that it will make me forget that I love her, and for a while I do; but then the veil drops, the smoke clears, and I am left with the depressing reality that try as I might, I can't shake her away, even though she's already moved on.

**Hmm, so I wonder how many people hate me for making him smoke pot? Notice how he doesn't even think of Emily. She's only a means to make Gemma jealous.**

**COUGH COUGH! EDIT - LUNA IS STUPID AND DOESN'T REALIZE WHEN SHE SPOILS ENDINGS OF LONG AWAITED NOVELS ANYMORE. SORRY LOVELIES, DON'T HATE ME!!!  
**

**Tired. 3am. TIRED,  
LunaEquus**

**PLEASE REVIEW and tell me your thoughts on Lifted!Kartik, and offer any concrit you may have! **


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